other day, they let her have her will, gave her her coffin, and the

woman's soul is at rest. I was told a droll instance of the force

of this preoccupation. The Polynesians are subject to a disease

seemingly rather of the will than of the body. I was told the

Tahitians have a word for it, erimatua, but cannot find it in my

dictionary. A gendarme, M. Nouveau, has seen men beginning to

succumb to this insubstantial malady, has routed them from their

houses, turned them on to do their trick upon the roads, and in two

days has seen them cured. But this other remedy is more original:

a Marquesan, dying of this discouragement--perhaps I should rather

say this acquiescence--has been known, at the fulfilment of his

crowning wish, on the mere sight of that desired hermitage, his

coffin--to revive, recover, shake off the hand of death, and be

restored for years to his occupations--carving tikis (idols), let

us say, or braiding old men's beards. From all this it may be

conceived how easily they meet death when it approaches naturally.

I heard one example, grim and picturesque. In the time of the

small-pox in Hapaa, an old man was seized with the disease; he had

no thought of recovery; had his grave dug by a wayside, and lived

in it for near a fortnight, eating, drinking, and smoking with the

passers-by, talking mostly of his end, and equally unconcerned for

himself and careless of the friends whom he infected.

This proneness to suicide, and loose seat in life, is not peculiar

to the Marquesan. What is peculiar is the widespread depression

and acceptance of the national end. Pleasures are neglected, the

<<BackPagesTo menuNext>>