ABSTRACT
Going along the street of Taïohaé to the left, we come to the queen's palace, close to a limpid stream. A banyan fig-tree of enormous extent covers the 80royal hut with its gloomy shade. Among the gnarled and knotted roots, twisted like writhing reptiles, we discover women seated there, draped in tunics, usually golden-yellow, which gives their skin a coppery hue. Their features are hard and savage; they look up as you approach with an expression of wild irony. There they sit all day, half-asleep, motionless and silent as idols.
