Since the exhibition of Herman Swank's South Sea Studies in the Graham Galleries, New York City, it is hardly necessary to introduce by name the illustrious artist who has justly earned the title of "Premier Painter of Polynesia." A whole school of painters have attempted to reproduce the exotic color and charm of these entrancing isles. It remained for Herman Swank, by his now famous method of diagrammatic symbolism, to bring the truth fully home. This he accomplished by living, to the limit, the native life of the Filbertese. Clad only in the light lamitu, or afternoon wrap of the islands, it was the artist's custom to spend entire days inhaling the perfume of the fragment alova flower, a practice which undoubtedly accounts for the far-away, dreamy expression so evident in the photograph. He is also wearing the paloota, or wedding crown, the gift of his lovely island bride.]
Let me briefly outline the Filbertine domestic arrangements as they were gradually unfolded to us. To begin with, make no mistake, marriage in the Filbert Islands is a distinct success. This is accomplished by the almost complete separation of the husband from his wives. During the day these joyous maids and matrons lead their own lives in their own community, rehearsing their songs, weaving chaplets of flowers, stringing pearls for their simple costumes, playing games and exchanging the badinage and gossip which are the life-breath of womanhood the world over. They are inordinately proud of their hair, as well they may be, and spend hours at a time dressing and undressing it.
The men, on their side, are equally free. The result is that a meeting with their wives is an event. Happiness, love and the elation of celebration are the harmonious notes of this beautiful domestic diapason.
Feast-days, banquets, picnics, swimming parties—the Filbertines adore salt water, which is not potable but thirst-producing—these are the occasions of a frank and joyous mingling of the sexes.
Before we left the clearing we were treated to a most graceful spectacle, a performance of the Ataboi, a dance descriptive of the growth and blossoming of the alova flower. This was performed by seven beautiful girls to an accompaniment of song and clapping. The plaintive love-motif was unmistakably introduced by a deep-chested dame who played on the bazoola, a primitive instrument fashioned from the stalk of the figwort (Scrophulariaceae). It may interest music lovers to know that the Filbertines employ the diatetic scale exclusively, four notes in the ascent and five on the recoil.
At the close of the performance we were shown the nursery compound, an enclosure teeming with beautiful children, screened by hedges where the little ones could be heard but not seen.
Two days subsequent to our amble we were invited to a grand banquet which led to disturbing problems and momentous decision on our part. This feast was our formal welcome; the keys of the islands, so to speak, were presented to us. There were ladies present—and everything.
It was served in a special clearing lighted by the moon and countless anchoridae tied by their legs in festoons, a procedure which causes them to open and shut their lambent eyes very rapidly, and gave a quaint cinema effect to the scene. After counting the courses up to twenty-seven I lost as each was accompanied by a new brand of island potion. Fortunately we were seated on the ground.
Triplett was in his glory. If I have failed to mention recently our hard-bitten old navigator it is only because we had seen comparatively little of him. Resting on his titular dignity as chief he seldom appeared in public, spending most of his time up his tree snoozing or reading an old copy of the New Bedford "Argus," which he was never without. Tonight, however, he blazed forth in full regalia, wearing his best blue marble, his visor-cap wreathed with nabiscus blossoms, his case-hardened countenance lighted with conviviality. Following an interminable period of eating and drinking came a long speech by Baahaabaa which, like most after-dinner speeches, meant nothing to me. Captain Triplett replied. The gist of Triplett's remarks, memorized from the "Argus," were taken from the 1916 report of the New Bedford Board of Trade. When he proclaimed that "besides cotton goods, 100,000 pianos were turned out yearly and 8,500 derby hats every day," his audience, set off by Whinney, burst into uproarious applause. The climax was reached when he lowered his voice dramatically and said, "And keep always in mind, O Baahaabaa and friends, that the New England Fur Company uses daily 35,000 rabbit pelts! Gentlemen, I thank you."