This man has made a considerable fortune by commerce, and went to his native France a few years ago with the intention of remaining there. But the intercourse with cultivated men and women seemed to him no equivalent for the idle, entirely animal life in Madagascar. So he soon returned to Tamatavé, to his slave-women, and there he will probably end his days. The European is truly a wonderful creature. In Europe he can scarcely find a girl to his taste, and his chosen one is expected to possess all the perfections under the sun; and here he is charmed by black, or muddy-brown coarse beauties, whom I really would almost as soon class among the genus Simia as among the human race! I pity men who can sink so low as to lose all taste for the noble and beautiful, and all recognition of the dignity of humanity; and evil indeed are the effects of their example upon the natives, and lamentably is the progress of civilization checked thereby.
But to return to my amiable host. The splendid breakfast was over, and my hopes had been shattered; still, I firmly bade defiance to despair, and built my trust upon the principal meal, which is always taken in the evening. With the greatest impatience I awaited the hour—alas! of new disappointment; the same dishes appeared that had decked the morning meal; not one less, and not one more. It was too much for human endurance. Fortunately, however, the elder brother of my host had come over from the second estate. He was a young man who had not only been in Bourbon, but had lived for nine years in Paris. Although, like his brother, he ate his supper in true Malagasey fashion, by means of the leaf-spoon, I felt more confidence toward him, and invited myself without ceremony to breakfast with him next morning, certain that I could not be worse entertained than I was here.
In the evening a very good bed was made up for me on the floor of my room; but, unfortunately, the musquito-net was forgotten. The consequence was that I could not close my eyes all night. Before retiring to rest I had begged my host to send me up a cup of coffee, with milk, to my room in the morning. But what was the result of my request? They brought me a washing-basin of milk and some sugar, but neither coffee-cup nor spoon. The sight of the basin was of course quite sufficient to take away my appetite, though the milk looked refreshing enough. I modestly hinted at coffee, and heard that they were going to look for some, and that it would then be roasted and ground. I therefore declined to wait, took leave of my obliging host, and again set out on my journey breakfastless.
A boat took me up the pretty river Foondro, which falls into the sea half a mile from this place, to the dwelling of the Parisian Malagasey. He lived in a handsome house; came out some distance to me, and—oh happy hour!—led me at once to the dining-room, where, to my great jubilation, I found the table covered in European fashion, and a good, plentiful repast spread out upon it.
This young man in many respects presented a favorable contrast to those of his countrymen who had been, like himself, in Bourbon or in Europe. He is, I think, the only one who does not endeavor to forget every thing he has learned in Europe as quickly as possible. I asked him if he did not miss Paris, and if he did not feel a desire to live there. He replied that he should certainly like to dwell in a civilized land, but that, on the other hand, Madagascar was his native country—that his whole family lived here, and he could not make up his mind to leave them, altogether.
His manner showed that these were not mere words—that he felt what he said. It greatly astonished me, for in general there is nothing more ridiculous than to hear a Malagasey speak of his family and of domestic ties. I have never met with a more immoral people than the inhabitants of Madagascar; and where there is such demoralization, family ties must be of the loosest. I dare not trust my pen to chronicle the many immoral customs which prevail, not only among the people generally, but in the highest families in the island, and appear quite natural to the people here. I can only say that female virtue is looked upon as quite valueless, and that the laws regarding marriage and progeny are of a stranger kind than any where else in the world. Thus, for instance, a man may divorce his wife and take another as often as he chooses. The woman may live with another man, though she may not marry again; but all the children born to her after she has been separated from her husband are looked upon as belonging to him; the second husband has not the slightest claim to them, and the mother is compelled to deliver them up to her first husband immediately upon his claiming them. When a man dies, too, any children his widow may afterward have are looked upon as his; and it is in consequence of this law that Prince Rakoto, son of Queen Ranavola, though he was born long after King Radama’s death, is looked upon as the son of that monarch.
It likewise frequently happens that men who have no children by their own wives marry girls who expect to become mothers, so that they may be able to call the child that is about to be born their own. This craving for progeny is caused by an existing law, which declares the property of any man who dies childless forfeit to the state.
To speak of domestic ties in such a state of society would sound like mockery; and if I had not noticed in my host, on several occasions, a rare amount of real feeling, I should have attached little credence to his words.
I had a good deal of conversation with him, and asked him farther if he did not feel any craving for intellectual companionship—for the agreeable domestic relations found in Europe; if it did not seem hard to him to live continually among coarse, uncultivated men? He acknowledged that the total want of cultivation among his countrymen rendered their society any thing but agreeable to him, but that he sought relaxation in books and study. He mentioned to me several very good works which he had brought with him from France.
I felt truly sorry for this young man. I will not assert that he showed any extraordinary amount of quickness or depth of intellect, but he has an adequate amount of talent, and so much real sensibility and feeling that he could not fail to gain friends in any country in the world. I pity him; for, amid this complete dearth of congenial society, it will be wonderful indeed if he does not become a true Malagasey at last.