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- 2026-01-30T20:48:25.203Z
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- the noble savage Mehevi, who is a thousand times more worthy of the
appellation? All hail, therefore, Mehevi, King of the Cannibal Valley,
and long life and prosperity to his Typeean majesty! May Heaven for many
a year preserve him, the uncompromising foe of Nukuheva and the French,
if a hostile attitude will secure his lovely domain from the remorseless
inflictions of South Sea civilization.
Previously to seeing the Dancing Widows I had little idea that there
were any matrimonial relations subsisting in Typee, and I should as soon
have thought of a Platonic affection being cultivated between the sexes,
as of the solemn connection of man and wife. To be sure, there were old
Marheyo and Tinor, who seemed to have a sort of nuptial understanding
with one another; but for all that, I had sometimes observed a
comical-looking old gentleman dressed in a suit of shabby tattooing, who
had the audacity to take various liberties with the lady, and that too
in the very presence of the old warrior her husband, who looked on
as good-naturedly as if nothing was happening. This behaviour, until
subsequent discoveries enlightened me, puzzled me more than anything
else I witnessed in Typee.
As for Mehevi, I had supposed him a confirmed bachelor, as well as most
of the principal chiefs. At any rate, if they had wives and families,
they ought to have been ashamed of themselves; for sure I am, they never
troubled themselves about any domestic affairs. In truth, Mehevi seemed
to be the president of a club of hearty fellows, who kept ‘Bachelor’s
Hall’ in fine style at the Ti. I had no doubt but that they regarded
children as odious incumbrances; and their ideas of domestic felicity
were sufficiently shown in the fact, that they allowed no meddlesome
housekeepers to turn topsy-turvy those snug little arrangements they had
made in their comfortable dwelling. I strongly suspected however, that
some of these jolly bachelors were carrying on love intrigues with
the maidens of the tribe; although they did not appear publicly to
acknowledge them. I happened to pop upon Mehevi three or four times when
he was romping--in a most undignified manner for a warrior king--with
one of the prettiest little witches in the valley. She lived with an
old woman and a young man, in a house near Marheyo’s; and although in
appearance a mere child herself, had a noble boy about a year old, who
bore a marvellous resemblance to Mehevi, whom I should certainly have
believed to have been the father, were it not that the little fellow
had no triangle on his face--but on second thoughts, tattooing is not
hereditary. Mehevi, however, was not the only person upon whom the
damsel Moonoony smiled--the young fellow of fifteen, who permanently
resided in the home with her, was decidedly in her good graces. I
sometimes beheld both him and the chief making love at the same time. Is
it possible, thought I, that the valiant warrior can consent to give
up a corner in the thing he loves? This too was a mystery which, with
others of the same kind, was afterwards satisfactorily explained.
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