The San Francisco call., 1897-12-19

scious island blooms. The Old World
and it's fierce poetic traditions are far
away.
We, the spectator elite, establish our
selves in the far end of the hall. Some
what apart, on q sofa, as in a private
box, sits a raison d'etre of the festivity,
the young Californian bride who is the
living link between past and future. In
a central chair of honor, beside our
chatelaine, Chief Justice Ide holds the
position of Lord of the Revels. The
rest, with a forlorn papalangi attempt
at grace, squat meekly on the ground
ia "a Samoa. Down the sides of the hall,
on the staircase, wherever there is
squatting room, throngs the gallery,
eager for it's spectacle, which is long of
coming. The more imposing of the
motleys are also squatting, evidently
their time for exertion is not yet. At
the very back of the hall, waiting for
action, stand two rows of figures-male
with one exception, the pretty, dimin-
utive taupo whose dignity is marked by
the fine white mat she wears in lieu
of skirt. In Tongan silva the village
virgin has no special part. Dancing in
those benighted Friendly isles appears
to be reserved for the stronger sex; but
maids there must be, if only to lend
variety to the scene, and apparently to
give the maid in question a fair show
we have a sort of preliminary goose
STEP" jerky, columnar trotting to and
fro, presenting arms, right about face,
and other mock drill doings to the in
fernal beat of the kerosene tin. This
eXcruciating performance over, the
''supers" fall back into their second
ranks, the orthodox wooden drum is
produced, and our tympanum woes are
at comparative end.
Tum-tum, tum-tum, tum-tum, the
monotonous sound is accompanied by a
melancholy drone in minor key. You
think of priests intoning a funeral
mass, of Druids preparing a victim for
the sacrifice, of anything and every
thing that is at once religious and la
mentable. But this is neither a re-
ligious nor lamentable figure that is
curvetting and pirouetting and leaping
before your eyes. To be sure Dervishes,
Salvationists and Shakers combine re-
ligious exercise with calisthenics, but
their ecstatic fervor is wholly lacking
here. The grotesque leaping and the
facial adornment are distinctly of the
earth, earthly. Green kirtle and red
necklace, brown siapo and tattooed
skin, smudged face and fiowery wreath,
colored streamer and colored kite and
whoop of voice and rattle of castanet
and bound of strong foot are all mixed
up pellmell. Then, without warning,
with weird cries and flying feet, other
figures join the leader, the Kaleidoscope
assumes form, the medley disentangles.
we become aware of measured motion
and sinuous grace and virile strength.
We are watching a warlike contredanse
where muscle and energy are conspic-
uouSly in request. In and out, out and
in, the wild figures replace each other
with fierce Shrieks; arms are tossed
aloft, make believe clubs fiourished.
kites rend, ferns and berries litter the
floor while toes poise, torsos sway and
writhe and bend backward with the
trained suppleness of ballerinas. What
is this savage ballet, this exaggerated
Scottish reel performed for our en-
lightenment? Is it a love fight simulat-
ed or war fight, pursuit and cap
ture, or a cannibal feast with its mad
preparations? Was that once CHASTITY
seriousness which is now but gro
tesque semblance? Did human life
once tremble in the balance where now
only human muscle is in question
Were murderous passions once arous-
ed by gestures which now but minister
to the love of display?
AS the miserable, dirge-like chant
persists, the leaping, writhing, gesticu-
lating figures are robbed of their motley
suggestion; insensibly the underlined
feeling of solemnity steals once more
upon US. The contortions and the
struggles, the air of exhausted defeat
and triumphant victory no longer form
part of a sham theatrical display. They
become emblems of human existence.
The familiar words. I'm the midst OF
life we are in DEATH" seem borne upon
the wailing notes of the dirge, and
Memory lifts veil. We realize why
the riotous excitement has an over