TAHITI I LOVE YOU

Portrait of famous Sylvain
by his son Teva

I dedicate this book to my father and mother, all of my family and friends, to the children of the volunteers of the 2nd Armored Division of General Leclerc, and of course to all Tahitians, especially those who worked with my papa to magnify the myth of Tahiti and her islands.

Teva SYLVAIN

When he arrived in Tahiti in 1946, Sylvain saw photography as a formidable means of communication to illustrate press articles and fill albums with family photos. But it was during his trip to Indochina when he became aware of the artistic value that the photographer can give to his work.

Like the painter, the photographer must find the golden ratio of the image he is going to create. He will give it meaning, definition, lighting, contrast, and expression; the whole having to appear within a perfectly stable balance.

The golden ration is demonstrated well in this photo.

Jeanine, his muse, his love, immediately understood the message that Sylvain wanted to express with his Rollei. From then on, in addition to being his favorite model, she also became his best artistic advisor.

In this photo I had just turned 16, on the cusp of an adventurous life in which I was far from capable of imagining all the extraordinary twists and turns. We are in the year of grace 1936, three years before the outbreak of hostilities in World War II.

Foreword

Thirty years have passed since we began this work, and each passing day leaves me with a strange feeling; that of a son who did not keep a promise made to his father. Believe me, that is a terribly frustrating feeling. Why wait thirty years when in 1995 the model of this book was ready to go to the printing presses?

Our mother wanted to guide the fate of this book herself. It was, therefore, that under the leadership of the great Taschen publishing house, she published a very beautiful book entitled «Tahiti Sylvain.» This book was distributed in several languages; it had excellent press, but in no way did this book resemble the project we had planned to publish with Dad. Even so, I must salute the remarkable work of Mr. Gian Paolo Barbiérie. So, in order to satisfy the demand of the Tashen house and that of my mother, I did not publish any work on my father’s life for a period of five years after the publication of «Tahiti Sylvain».

Subsequently, for reasons of family discord, which out of modesty and respect for my father, I will keep quiet, the publication of this book remained on hold for a long time ...

Time always does the wounds of life well, and sometimes it even happens to heal them. 95 years old and still alert, my mother gave her tutelary, Mr. Bernard Collorig, her consent for this book to finally be published. I warmly thank Mr. Bernard Collorig for having done the necessary with my mother to allow me to publish this work. All royalties from the sales of this book will be entirely donated to my mother.

This book is the unfinished work of my father, the work of which I took over with the precious help of my sister, Vaea. Indeed, Vaea, like our daddy, inherited the DNA of genius and beauty. An immense artist in many fields, she expresses herself with talent and many powerful ideas. She handles essential questions about life, both in painting and in writing, with the precision of our aunt Lydia. Her gaze on the world leaves no one indifferent and is only enhanced by the extraordinary color of her green eyes. I must not forget our older sister Moea, beautiful as the day, a very talented musician, yet another artist in the family; she has followed the development of this book very closely. This book is also the work of our mother, who wanted to tell the story of Tahiti before the arrival of her prince charming and their great romance.

In this book, love is king!

I must also warmly thank Mr. Christophe Legrand, president of the Association of Alumni of the 501st RCC, who intervened to secure the information I had on Corporal Sylvain during World War II. Mr. Legrand showed great kindness in bringing me his help and his knowledge on the facts of the war, of which he has great knowledge. I can’t thank him enough.

Sylvain’s life was, above all, an extraordinary hymn to love coupled with a true adventure novel where love and war came together in a marriage to paint a man intoxicated with the happiness of living, a joy that he knew how to communicate to others in all circumstances.

Sylvain is known in Tahiti for his work in the world of photography, music, and cinema. His name remains intimately attached to the legendary imagery of Tahiti. If he did not invent the myth of Tahiti, he undoubtedly magnified it by giving it body and soul through his photography and music.

This work is a collection of memories, even if they are incomplete or unfinished; these memories will be of interest to family and friends, and to the community as well, because he is an artist who shaped a certain idea of life through his work, a life he immediately shared with those of the Polynesians when he discovered Tahiti in my mother’s eyes, on October 27, 1946.

This book, I hope, will also honor the children of veterans of the Second World War of all nations and especially those of the prestigious 2nd Armored Division of General Leclerc, in which the young 23-year-old man committed to Temara for the duration of the war.

Sylvain is one of those who formally rejected the dictatorship of the Nazi invader when the Vichy regime was officially sealed. It was necessary for me to retrace city after city and detail all the events of the Second World War which marked Sylvain’s journey, from Paris to Marseille, then from Temara to Berchtesgaden by liberating Paris then Strasbourg, to realize to what extent Corporal Sylvain, driver of a reconnaissance tank, is not only a true miracle survivor of Nazi fire but above all shared, like all those of the 2nd Armored Division, this thirst to defeat the enemy at all costs. All of this, to allow us to live freely.

Sylvain, as a father, was very discreet around his children about the appalling state of mind inscribed in the motto of all the fighters of the 501st RCC «Kill»; he was not wrong. Was it out of modesty that he did not tell us about it?

I do not think so; it was above all to not unnecessarily bring all of his horrible, lived memories to the surface. If only that of his tank, hit by a shell, which he managed to bring back to his base and in which was found, annihilated by a bullet in his forehead, his tank captain, Adolphe-Marie Lespagnol, in the attack of the commune of Brouville in front of Strasbourg city.

This work appears after a long gestation, for which I must be forgiven, even if I am responsible for it somewhere, but I undertake it as a sacred duty for my children first and perhaps even for all, as much as we are.

Indeed, we received from our father only good examples, only love, and his fatherly kindness always inspired me with a certain abnegation because he was devoted, unselfish, and deeply altruistic.

This portrait is that of a man in love with life, virtuous, simple, cordial, faithful, animated by a natural gaiety that he made shine with his guitar, his countless funny stories, and good spirit while hanging on to honor, to duty, to sacrifice, and to upholding the truth.

If this book pays homage to my father, it also pays homage to all these men and women who share the same ideal of life.

Teva Sylvain

My son, my apple (me)

Like the fabulist La Fontaine, Sylvain bequeathed unto us his works, which no one will ever be able to achieve with such talent; if only the photograph of the sunset that he immortalized in front of his home in Punaauia. So beautiful and so simple, this photo sums up all of Sylvain’s life, beauty, gentleness, harmony. And the lady seated on this canoe is none other than his muse, his wife, our mother, who seems to be heading slowly towards the luminescent star where Sylvain is waiting, far, far behind the horizon.

It was in those eyes that I discovered «my Polynesia».

«I had found a banquet in her eyes.»

Intro by Sylvain himself

Hotel Saint-Cyr, Paris on may 17, 1989

My life of adventure was at once brought completely to a halt by a bundle of emotions of uncontrollable force: I was «struck by lightning», as we would say in today’s jargon.

She was there, simply there. I only remember that I had found a banquet in her eyes. I have no memory of what was said out loud, of what we ate or even of our seats at the table, but it was in those eyes that I discovered «my Polynesia.» It was with those eyes that I entered this country where children are kings, racism unknown, where the art of living takes precedence over everything, where exhilarating gaiety can alternate, without transition or regret, with nostalgia, dreams, contemplation or immediate action - what we pompously call work - or even combine them all together.

After a lengthy and insolent war, the habit of weapons, noise, blood, and hatred took quite a shock to disturb, even with a guitar in hand, to transform the warrior and from his rest, give it a new birth. To restore it to its former freshness and once again let its gifts resurface and blossom.

* You get it, now it was 1989, it was love at first sight and not lightning...

Thank you, «DESTINY», thank you to you who propelled me to this island, who wanted me from the first moments to be confronted with beings and events out of our time, who offered me a pilot, a friend, a partner.

A woman who, as she slipped her graceful Polynesian body into the transparent waters of her lagoon, so too immersed me without knowing, in a baptism of the waters of youth, light-years from the sea. Those of my childhood and in which I evolved since the beginning of my world.

Of course, I stayed on the island. Obviously, I abandoned all my projects, my ambitious programs. I let the boat start again. Sitting on the quay, we saw it disappear on the horizon, cutting me off definitively from the rest of the world.

I married «my eyes», my muse «TEHANI» and together we had a lot of joy, children and grandchildren, all artists, Tahitians and citizens of our planet - musicians, painters, photographers, dancers, and filmmakers, sometimes even all at once.

Oh, I often remember our meeting on which everything depended, that one-on-one lunch on a thread from another dimension surrounded by invisible people. We had found our double, the one that we seek for lifetimes and that we seldom, or so rarely find. Mine was poles apart, hers too, of course, if it was not at all obvious!

It was the next day, or perhaps the day after, that we returned and, without consulting each other, sent out two telegrams to our respective fiancés, already so far from us and our promises of the past.

It took a year for my mother’s response to come back to me – with only a boat every six months and no plane - she congratulated me on my marriage but couldn’t help but ask me, oh, very kindly, what language I spoke with my wife? The one precisely to whom I had just offered «Regain» and who discovered at the same time Giono, Mozart, Bach, and Monteverdi, and whom she now adored.

Tahiti was almost unknown at the time, confused with Haiti or otherwise, a vague bookish memory of Jean-Jacques Rousseau and his «good savage», but that was it.

As for me, it seemed unthinkable to keep all this beauty for myself. I had no right to do so. I had to try to give this gift to my family, to give them a little dream in exchange for Bach or Giono.

For the emotions in return, the process had to go through the same path, and I had an instrument to convey it: my camera. I used it.

With Jeanine, in front of or behind the lens, for forty-five years, we have taken a number of photographs that make their way around the world today. Jeanine happily represented «The Tahitian», it was the first photograph that one could finally place, without fear of dissonance, next to the little tuft of coconut palm that everyone carries within themselves, perhaps in memory of Eden. These long, supple stems, disheveled, undulating in the trade winds, planted in the shining sand, surrounded by emerald lagoons, the very legends of Suzanne and the Pacific that Jean Giraudoux, the poet, had imagined, invented, but that, not for a moment do I think, that he would have searched for...

Adolphe SYLVAIN

Our « first love coffee »

Jeanine happily represents the Tahitian. It was the first photograph that we could finally show without fear of dissonance next to the little clump of coconut palm that everyone carries within themselves, perhaps in memory of Eden ...

Sylvain, photographed by his son Teva.

FIRST CHAPTER

Childhood memories

I was born in 1920 in Paris, rue Montmartre, at the traded Bourse, in the second arrondissement, next to the grand boulevard which, at that time, was somewhat the heart of Paris. The Champs-Élysées was not very hectic yet. On the big boulevards were the big cafes, with orchestras on small platforms, the thick and starchy restaurants where the whole commercial and artistic Paris met, the theaters, cabarets, street vendors, all were present. I still see myself growing up in this post-war world, eager for parties and mirth. Charles Trenet’s beginnings at ABC radio, Tino Rossi, whose voice charmed all day long in the new Monoprix stores. Talking and color films appeared in theaters. The new permanent lighting formula made the lighting feel creepy and muted.

My father had a fashion house and did a lot of export work, especially to South America. He created his designs with my mother, who was very beautiful, as the model.

Great idealists, my parents had met at the meetings of Esperanto, an extraordinary organization whose aim was to promote an easy to learn international language for all Europeans: Esperanto. What a wonderful dream! Esperanto was started in 1887 by a Polish physician Ludovic Zamenhaf.

My mother had been elected queen of the Esperantists; I still have pictures of her driving through Paris on a large flowery chariot. Invited to all European capitals, she represented the foundation which, unfortunately, slowly died out with the death of its leader.

Here we are, dad, mom, my sister, and I at Studio Harcourt for the family photo. Mom holds my hand. We had to stay still for a few seconds to get the shot. This photo expresses all the tenderness that reigned at home, a sweetness that I immediately recreated when I committed to founding my little family with Jeanine, who filled me with love all our life.

A family walk, mom, my apple (Sylvain), dad, and my sister Lydie

Mom and dad in love

I am in daddy’s arms, happy, under the tender gaze of Lydie, my sister

My father, Adolphe Schimsewitsch, was born on July 20, 1886 in Lodz, which is the 3rd city of Poland, also called the «Manchester of the Russian Empire».

I am within «Tchoun», my mother Jeanne Emilie Killian, born December 18, 1888 in Paris, daughter of Nicolas Killian (born November 23, 1841 in Siersthal in Moselle) and Louise Catherine Dillman, born in Le Havre on April 1, 1850, daughter of Jean-Charles Adam Dillman (born in Saarbrücken in 1814) and Catherine Elisabeth Bailly.

I am now in the arms of my grandmother, Louise-Catherine Dillman, discovering the blue planet on a beautiful spring day, in the capital, Paris, on April 19, 1920 at 149 rue Montmartre.

This little smiling baby is me

My father was avant-garde; he was interested in everything! The novelties attracted him; we thus had one of the first six-bulb TSF radio stations with the batteries, the recharging system, and the silver cardboard loudspeaker built into the ceiling light in the dining room.

He loved photography, and as I grew older, he would take me with him to introduce me to all of these wonderful inventions discovered at the turn of the century that appeared one after the other.

Leaving the laboratory he had set up in the back of the apartment, his eyes furrowed by the dazzling exterior ambiance after the inactinic red light, he took me to the Museum of Arts and Crafts to show me Ader’s plane.

With wide eyes and a heart full of the future, I admired this huge bat that Ader had called the Éole, and which was not yet an airplane. Clément Ader flew fifty meters in the air on his Éole in 1891 at the Satory camp, my father told me.

In the evening, I would spin on Boulevard Montmartre to rub shoulders with the crowd and admire the hawkers doing their sleight of hand and card tricks.

I learned a lot during that time; they have kept me company all my life, especially the guitar revealed to me by an old Spaniard, who unfortunately disappeared too quickly from the neighborhood. Afterward, I caught the bug. I had to reinvent this instrument on my own.

In the 1930s, the guitar was not widespread in France. I couldn’t find someone to help me. My sister Lydie was an outstanding musician, but she played the piano. She was seven years older than me, and we happily got together to sing in our two voices.

I harmonized easily and was filled with happiness when our songs mingled into one vibration. Later, when the weather was fine, we would walk home together from the Latin Quarter via the Pont des Arts, opposite the Institute.

I still have in my eyes the enormous moon, with its halo so very close to the roofs of Notre-Dame de Paris and the sparkling reflections in the Seine. There we could stay for hours, leaning on the iron railing. We sang the old songs of the Middle Ages that I discovered in the Mazarine library and that I wrote down to transpose the accompaniment from the lute to the guitar.

These moments of plenitude remained crystallized in me like a pious image that becomes a talisman that seems to be able to protect us.

Singing in unison in an exceptional environment always captivates me. When I speak of this setting of the Pont des Arts, it might seem strange coming from me, who today lives in the most fabulous of worlds. In Tahiti, in front of the sea. In front of the extraordinary island of Moorea, bathed in an ideal climate where good weather prevails over storms.

Your surroundings become a reflection of yourself. Life is truly a Spanish hostel, you find what you bring to it, and this complement allows us to be who we are.

When I was thirteen, my father enrolled me in the apprenticeship school of the Paris Chamber of Commerce to work in fitting, foundry, electricity, carpentry, technical drawing, and autogenous welding.

Later, I entered the Special School of Public Works in Cachan.

I can never thank Dad enough for giving me such a solid foundation.

When I left school, I was hired by Alsthom. My first assignment was to build a gigantic electric transformer commissioned by the government of Japan, then the war came.

I joined the French Air Ministry in the aeronautical research service. I thought I had some references in this area, having won two years in a row at the Lépine competition for inventions that I had presented in 34-35.

So I worked on a few projects, including the infamous «concrete bombs», which was appropriate for the period, since we were in the phase of what was called at the time the «Funny War».

Then, with that debacle, I was evacuated to the so-called free zone in Toulouse to supposedly continue the research. However, I was no longer doing research, and I still wanted to contribute to defending France against the German invader.

As for my engineering studies, they all ended there!

When we sang the old songs of the Middle Ages together with Lydie, I was filled with happiness as soon as our voices mingled in one vibration.

Very serious dad at the controls of Ader’s plane.

With my double bow tie, I was proud...

The guitar revealed to me by an old Spanish man

CHAPTER II

The Second World War

France was sinking into the Occupation. I tried to join de Gaulle in London without success. I went down to Marseilles by bicycle to find a route on that side, and, like many young people in my case, I was crammed in a huge hotel, “the Paradis Bel Air”, in a very small room, almost a cell. But in the evening, I heard a flute distilling in the Rue du Paradis, tunes from another time.

I searched among 200 rooms for the musician enchanting the «Paradis Bel Air». When the door opened, everything became clear to me; I had my guitar on my heart. At the end of his last chord, our music immediately mingled, and a new life of adventures began. The guitar had always been a friend of mine. I was always eager to learn other songs from our folklore that often overlapped with the old ballads I had memorized from Paris. There were always two or three of us trying to throw the old songs into the youth groups. I had real stage and coaching experience.

My new friend Georges Weiss was very different; his musical background came from a completely different source. While strolling in the creeks around Marseille, we developed a show of duettists, very fashionable at that time.

The theater company of Comédiens Routiers de Grenier and Hussenot, based in Uriage, welcomed us as brothers. We instantly integrated into the community…

We toured all the great theaters of Free France, all the provinces one after the other. We drove around our baskets of costumes and decorations in a large gasoline-powered bus, playing Molière’s “Les Précieuses ridicules” or participating in variety shows.

Georges and I were specialized, in addition to comedy, in changes of scenery. And the audience liked our songs more and more. We were the forerunners of the «Compagnons de la Chanson», and it is Jacques Douai who has taken up the torch today. He had arrived one fine day in Uriage to learn the scene. He has since come a long way and become a great friend.

I also fixed the best moments on the film and prepared the commercial.

At the end of the show, we had admirers and interesting people, including a young woman painter who introduced me to painting, composition, and the golden ratio.

There is something exhilarating about performing, especially on tour. The scenery is changing all the time, the audience is always new and unpredictable.

In addition, the friendship that united us was our strength. We had no star, we had only a name, «Les Comédiens Routiers».

No jealousy, no resentment, or cheap blows. The spectacle alone counted. When Olivier had the flu and became voiceless, his wife, Anne-Marie, would wait in the halls to give him his hot toddy. He took a liking to it and made false outings to get his rum and finally ended the show dead drunk, but having made us die of laughter with false scripts by Molière that the master surely would not have denied.

We, therefore, lived in Uriage, above Grenoble, precisely at the management training school, commanded by the «Old Chief» Dunoyer de Segonzac. In this superb castle, the future prefects of France, before their appointment, were gathered for internship.

Beginning of my commitment

to the service of Free France

I used to bring lots of good people across the Swiss border who were trying to escape from occupied France ... Until the day I was caught by the Germans in Switzerland on a train. Brought back to the French border, I was transferred to the Annecy prison, where I remained a few months with all the “common rights” of the region (they were often much more interesting than one might think).

I had managed to have some books brought to me from outside, including one that really impressed me: «When the Cathedrals Were White» by Le Corbusier, for whom I had a deep admiration since my school of Public Works. I was finally able to get out of there thanks to my defender, who was not a real lawyer ... but indeed a providential envoy of the head of the Uriage Cadres School: Pierre Dunoyer de Segonzac *.

Obviously, I could not imagine that my boss, Pierre Dunoyer de Segonzac, was aware of my activities at the border. But he was a great leader, and he proved it once again by quietly breaking me out.

4 E.I.F. Uriage Castle, November 4, 1940

I liked to take a moment to relax while smoking my pipe; it was fashionable back then.

We formed with Georges on the flute and I on the guitar, an irresistible duo.

On the left is Dunoyer de Segonzac, in the center Gabriel Nahas and on the right Father de Morand, a monk of En-Calcat. Photo source: Archives of the Amicale des Maquis de Vabre

* Pierre-Dominique Dunoyer de Segonzac (Toulon March 10, 1906 - Paris March 13, 1968) is a former resistance member and French Brigadier General. After having fought heroically at the head of his 4th Cuirassiers tank squadron near Le Quesnoy, against a regiment of Panzers supported by a regiment of fusiliers, and having fought until the armistice, he was the director of the School for Uriage executives, which he created immediately after the defeat of 1940, with the support of the Youth Secretariat of the Vichy Regime. Resisting the multiple pressures exerted by the regime, Dunoyer de Segonzac granted his school a great deal of autonomy which enabled him to make it a place of reflection, a breeding ground for the Resistance.

When the school was closed by the Laval government at the end of 1942, he went into hiding, and his team swarmed into many maquis (Vercors, the Paris region, Brittany, the North ...). He himself would take command of the maquis of southern Tarn, which brings together Jews, Protestants, and Catholics with whom he will liberate the towns of the region (Castres, Mazamet, Béziers etc.). Constituting his troops in the regiment (the 12th Dragons), he will take Autun, will enter Nevers to join up there with the 1st Army of General de Lattre. He will enter Germany after fighting very hard in the Vosges.

He was appointed Brigadier General in 1959.

He wrote memoirs entitled Le Vieux Chef, Memoirs and Selected Pages (Seuil, Paris, 1971).

Alone in Annecy, I was able to alert my base friends who took me on the road to the Spanish border, again confiding escapees to me: 28!

It was a new line of smugglers. But as we feared, they were not trustworthy people. We were flushed out once more by the Germans while our guides let us down. In short, after a lot of losses, we arrived, some as far as Isaba, 10 km from the Spanish border.

We were saved from the Germans, but exhausted. Fugitives to Spain arriving without any papers, the adventure was far from over! First the prison in Barcelona, then the Miranda de Ebro camp.

In Miranda, 5,000 men, stateless, survivors of the Spanish Civil War, Europeans of all stripes, Czechs, Romanians, Slovaks, Dutch, Germans, English, but all virtuous.

We were all flayed alive in the heart but still alive, powerful. Artists, musicians, idealists, filling with admiration, even the Spanish jailers.

Dressed in my jacket, I was well protected from the cold, but not too well, especially when we were active in the Vosges.

The sad camp of Miranda de Ebro

Between Hessle and Huggate in England, the brave soldiers of Free France are on their way to defend the mother country. I am sitting in the front seat of the truck. Like all of us, we had undergone intensive training, and we were very anxious to know the date of the disembarkation to take action.

Luckily, a new colonel had just taken over the camp, and with a friend, who was freed quite quickly, I tried to add something to our miserable lives in our cells. We imagined creating a permanent cinema in one of the barracks which had remained almost empty ... The new colonel immediately showed his interest in accepting our proposals. Indeed, from an international point of view, The Red Cross and other organizations tried to prove that this camp was not as fierce as one wanted to make it seem.

This is how I started a new life that will last six months. We rented professional projectors in Bilbao (rental payable in arrears), made a contract with a film distribution company, transformed the hut into a place of relaxation, and brought in a piano. Maurice Vander was the committed pianist. Witman, the decorator, made us extraordinary frescoes with a particularly humorous “Don Quixote”. In short, the cinema opened one fine evening, never to close, either day or night during my stay. Four Paris firefighters, disguised as ushers, kept order and the wicket. The entrance fee was two pesetas (reasonable for prisoners, each received a little money from their respective consulate). This operation has flourished. We were quickly able to take a much better contract with the distribution company, and I was showing the best films of the moment (Fantasia, Snow White ...)

When I was finally released (exchanged by the Spanish government for a bag of American phosphate), the camp colonel was very sad to see me go. He asked me what he could do to make me happy. I simply told him that I wanted to recover my Rolle flex which was in the hands of the prefect of Bilbao.

This is how I arrived in Casablanca, undermined like a Milord, my bag full of French Francs (printed by the Germans) that I had bought for good pesetas to help out the Basques who were arriving from France. But oh surprise, the Casablanca bank changed these horrible au pair banknotes for me! In any case, this small fortune that fell from the sky has done a lot of service to many friends. Though I hadn’t come for that, but to wage war and drive out the Germans.

Having just been released, I am in Casablanca. Spain is a memory. The Miranda de Ebro camp will surely be fine without me. I left the direction of the cinema to another prisoner, he was very happy.

Here, we had to choose. The military adviser, Ensign Legrand, suggested that I join the Leclerc division, which was none other than the Colone Leclerc from Chad, augmented by a multitude of local volunteers, people like me who had passed through Spain.

Escaped from France, we were in a very violent state of mind, and this is one of the reasons why the Leclerc division was so feared by the Germans. We gave no quarter with them.

At first, I was very disappointed, remaining convinced that my research work at the Air Ministry would automatically lead me to aviation. But here it was, I was told that if I got involved in aviation, I had very little chance of flying and fighting, but also telling me that with Leclerc, I might land in France.

One day, I learned that someone around de Gaulle in Algiers was looking insistently for me. I called, and it turned out to be my sister. I was flabbergasted! She too had passed through Spain to join de Gaulle.

With Professor Cassin, they prepared for de Gaulle’s return to France and provided for the laws that would be immediately applicable by his future government.

My sister, Lydie Adolphe, was a great jurist. Her doctoral thesis in law, «Portalis et son temps,» was awarded by the French Academy. Its subject, the creation of the Napoleonic code, would become the Civil Code of almost all democracies.

She then worked with Bergson until his death before escaping from France.

I was unable to go to see her in Algiers, I could not leave my company, and I did not see her until much later in Paris when I was demobilized on my return from Berchtesgaden. Oh! But of my company, we were not all complete. Of the 70 who landed at Saint-Martin-de-Varreville, Utah Beach, only a handful remained to return. We were a reconnaissance company, so constantly on the front lines, it must be said.

Lydie Adolphe, Sylvain’s older sister, doctor of law, has devoted her life to analyzing the major currents of thought in the intellectual world of her time. Her work on Portalis, which she qualifies as a good genius of Napoleon, was crowned by the French Academy in 1937. She is passionate about the philosophy of Henri Bergson and explains the depth of her thought through three works, of which the famous philosopher said that she had genius. Lydie Adolphe was one of the gray eminences of the government of Algiers created by de Gaulle; it had the mission of rewriting the civil code, which dated from Napoleon III.

Handwritten caption

To my friend Lydie Adolphe in memory of my father, who liked to talk about philosophy with you

J. Bergson November 12, 1948

The second DB (Armored Division)

Presentation of Sylvain’s journey in operation in the 2nd Armored Division during the 2nd World War, according to the information in his military booklet.

I had the pleasure of meeting General Buis, who was part of the smallest circle of my father’s close friends; it was in Paris in 1989. Dad was having a successful cataract operation. I was 36, he had just given me the green light to edit the book of his life. In this little lobby of the Hôtel Saint-Cyr et des Ternes, we chatted about everything and nothing. I guessed the very close ties between my father and Buis.

The discussion naturally turned to war. It must be said that we had just experienced the events of the Gulf War, the embargo on Iraqi oil, the reunification of the two Germanys, and the risks to world peace; Let us remember that the dictators Pinochet, Gaddafi, and Saddam Hussein were still in this world.

In my candor as a young Polynesian who knew nothing about war, except through watching a few films and having, in Tahiti, endured the effects of the French nuclear experiments at Mururoa, I allowed myself to say that we were now safe from a world war thanks to atomic weapons. Buis did not share my opinion at all; he argued that conflicts will always persist, especially in the Middle East, and that future wars will be fought in the traditional way with planes, guns, and tanks, and certainly not with nuclear weapons.

Thirty years have passed, I learned a little more about the state of mind of these extraordinary men of the 2nd Armored Division thanks to the books left by Georges Buis but also Erwan Bergot, Jacques Guillon, Repiton- Préneuf, Philippe de Gaulle ...

No one can ignore that the man of June 18 was alone against Pétain in defending the armored weapon «neglected for too long by French officials» , wrote de Gaulle in his book «Towards the Professional Army».

Hearing the call from General de Gaulle, Georges Buis, an armored army officer stationed in Lebanon in 1940, escaped to join the FFL. Assigned to the 2nd Armored Division, he took command of the 1st Company of the 501st RCC in October 1943. Buis was actually a tank specialist and my father, passionate about mechanics, was one of his most rigorous students. It is not impossible that he was the one who invented this telescope that Buis presented to the American General during the tank inspection on February 13, 1944, which by order of the General, was installed on all American tanks.

If after the attack on Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, de Gaulle had obtained from the Americans enough to arm the 2nd Armored Division, the American staff remained fussy about the honesty of the French before authorizing the Leclerc division to campaign alongside the US troops. In his book on the 2nd AD, Erwan Bergot recounts in detail the feverish state of Leclerc’s men before being accepted for the exam of the American commission in order to find out if the 2nd AD was able to fight with the allies Americans. No one wanted to be responsible if this was a failure.

“The two weeks following the announcement of the inspection have passed in a feverish mood,” said Bergot. Jogging of vehicles, dismantling and reassembly of engines, weapons, materials, reviews of packages, nothing is left to chance ...

Eggenspiller, the commander of the support company of the 2è RMT, demands that the optical equipment be dismantled and reassembled by the pointers, which will soon surprise the American experts whose competence does not go that far ...

US inspectors in coveralls don’t hesitate to crawl under tanks in mud to spot the tiniest patch of rust. They dissect engines, gearboxes, and cannon mechanisms, constantly questioning pilots, assistant mechanics, radio operators, shooters, or gunners. Nothing and no one escapes their vigilance. Not even the battalion leaders, who are reduced to having to recertify their driving license once again.

The Americans behave like technicians, cold and impersonal professionals, not engaging in any commentary, but recording all their observations in a notebook, which never left them ... The inspection lasted 48 hours, and in the division reigned the anguish. The atmosphere grew heavy. And then, on the evening of February 14, the Americans left, cryptic, leaving unanswered the question everyone was asking: -

Victory? Or Defeat?

A few days later, a terse telegram from the U.S. high command informed General Leclerc that the division was now deemed fit to campaign. A gigantic hurrah greets this decision, well deserved. The 2nd DB has just taken its final face, Sorret said. These three months of training gave the units no respite. The tool is sharp, with an increasingly sharp edge. Efficiency, speed of execution, cohesion, and above all, significant results, esprit de corps. The differences have been filed away, rather rolled back by the hellish life everyone has led, antagonisms having melted in the heat of training.

The men recruited by Warrant Officer Quentin to fight in the 2nd Armored Division do not take into account their origins, their colors, their faiths. Regardless of whether they are deserters or escapees, Quentin just wants to get rid of the unwanted, the physically unfit, or those whose morale is faltering.

He threatens to exclude all those who do not meet the strict criteria imposed by Leclerc himself. Be careful, he warns, the Germans are good soldiers: “to defeat them, you must surpass them. Victory is only given to the best; it is also cemented with blood. Remember that poorly educated soldiers are always stupidly killed. So you are not there to get killed, but to fight, as long as possible, until victory ...»

- «Welcome to the 2nd Battalion,» Massu said in a voice as rough as his character. I hope you will be keen to live up to those who have come before you here. Do not expect any indulgence from me or any of your officers. Belonging to the 2nd Armored Division is an honor that is earned every day. Nothing will ever be handed to you. Do you want the fight? You will have it in his days. But first, you will have to learn your trade ...»

«The voice of Warrant Officer Quentin, in charge of one of the 2nd Armored Division’s incorporation offices, is neutral, with a deliberately official tone. We must be careful not to collude, especially vis-à-vis these escapees from France who overcame the difficult passage of the Pyrenees in the cold, starved, only to fail for months at the sinister camp of Miranda. They are all alike, skinny cheeks, cropped doggy hair, eyes shining with fever and excitement. They are pure of heart, diehards who do not come to the division to hide or to remake a political virginity, but to fight. While they are sometimes impressed by the young glory of the old men of the unit, they make a point of equaling in bravery the most seasoned of the desert hikers ... whose motto is «Kill some».

On August 28, 1943, without hesitation, Sylvain came to Casablanca; he signed his engagement in the 2nd Armored Division for the duration of the war; he wanted to wage war on a plane, but he will do it on a main battle tank.

During the six months of intensive training in the handling of weapons and the use of his tank in the 2nd Armored Division, he couldn’t stand it any longer, he missed music too much, he obtained authorization to form a choir with the personnel of the regiment from Lieutenant de Gavardie-Montclar, the commander of his unit. This is how, alongside his operational function, he became the director of the regimental choir, which will be heard to the delight of all, including the Rochambelles in Morocco and then in England.

He arrived at Port Talbot in England on April 22, 1944. Three days later, he was directed to Hessle at the Franly Both camp and then moved to Camp Huggate on May 3, 1944 for a period of two months, which allowed him to discover and appreciate England.

On July 23, 1944, the whole company was dispatched to Bournemouth then, the next day, to Weymouth, where Sylvain would be in operation for the landing on France.

Coming from Weymouth, Corporal Sylvain, first engineer in command of the Stuart tank, baptized “MANTOUE”, which belongs to the 3rd section of the 4th company of the 501st Combat Tank Regiment (501st RCC), landed in France on August 3, 1944 on the beach of Saint-Martin-de-Varreville, called Utah Beach by the Americans.

Its section is mainly engaged with the 1st Company commanded by Captain BUIS.

The Leclerc division has 200 tanks, 16,000 men, 4,200 vehicles, 600 cannons, and 2,000 machine guns. It is integrated into the Third US Army (320,000 men and more than 2,000 tanks) commanded by the fiery but no less brilliant General Georges Patton. With rage in their stomachs, the soldiers and their equipment quickly emerge from the stomachs of the LSTs stranded on the beach, in a hurry to do battle with the Germans. The orders received by Second Lieutenant LESPAGNOL, then transmitted to Sergeant TORRES, his tank commander, are to go directly to Lessay (Manche), a town that the Americans, under the orders of Colonel Bernard McMahon, liberated from the Germans on the 27th, July 1944 after heavy fighting.

From the belly of the L.S.T., a Sherman sets off on the beach in the direction of Saint-Aubin.

On August 6, 1944, the 2nd Armored Division moved south. The 4th company moved to the Saint-Aubin-Sur-Terregatte sector, where it stayed for two days before making a big move via Vitré and the northern suburbs of Le Mans, which brought it on August 10 to Ballon. At dawn on the 12th, General LECLERC entered the vanguard in Alençon aboard his Jeep. The 2nd AD seized Alençon, and pursued the enemy in the Écouves forest, towards Carrouges and Écouché.

Sylvain took part in the Poche de la Falaise-Argentan affair, where the Germans would find themselves cornered by the Americans coming from the south and by the British arriving from the north. It is for the volunteers of Témara, which include Sylvain, that the real baptism of fire is to begin. This case will be the last German offensive planned by Hitler himself, who felt betrayed by his generals after having been the subject of an assassination attempt on July 20, 1944.

With enemy troops completely weakened, the retreat of the Wehrmacht from the Falaise Pocket, despite effective resistance, for the Germans was the beginning of the end; In the face of this defeat of the Axis forces, the Allied troops completely regained their morale. General Von Kluge, in charge of defending the positions of the Führer, saw his men surrender in masse; he then gave the order for the general retreat to the 7th Army, abandoning weapons and vehicles in place. He will write, before committing suicide, that this case had no chance of success. As for Hitler, on the evening of August 15, 1944, in conference with his officers, he admitted that this day had been the most atrocious of his life.

The US Army, through Enigma’s decoding, sees the dire state of German forces and their inability to grow stronger.

On August 21, Leclerc overstepped the orders of General Bradley, his superior, and decided to send a company of light armored infantry to reconnoiter the capital.

This is the Guillebon Detachment, a light group of machine guns and an infantry section on half-tracks. De Gaulle approved of this insubordination and put pressure on Eisenhower to change the Americans’ plan.

This is how General Leclerc learns that Paris has entered an insurrection. He urges his troops to keep in mind that they must remain available at all times after learning of the situation in Paris. Sylvain, a Parisian by birth, who knows Paris like the back of his hand and even better than the Michelin guide, agrees with Leclerc, Buis, de Guillebon, and all his relatives. Since August 19, 1944, from neighborhood to neighborhood, Paris has risen, exposing its population to reprisals from the Germans who prepared to blow up the capital in the event of an uncontrollable insurrection.

This is the situation that is looming.

The Parisians swell the crowd around the square of Notre Dame where the tricolor flags bloom, the same at the police headquarters as at the Town Hall. Since August 15, the Parisian police have been on strike, but they suddenly resumed service at the prefecture, but not to support the Teutonic attacker. Six hundred barricades appear in all parts of the city. The FFI deploys their guerrilla forces on the instructions of Colonel Rol-Tanguy, commander of the French interior forces, who is trying to take control of the city, exposing it to the great danger of mass destruction planned by the Führer in this specific contingency.

Despite the intervention of the Swedish consul-general Raoul Nordling with General Von Choltitz, the Germans did not budge. All the more so as they have a perfect command of the great cogs of the capital from the Hotel Meurice.

The bubbling Parisians sense the presence of Allied forces, but they ignore that liberating Paris is not at all a priority for US General “Ike” Eisenhower.

The latter has already bypassed the city by the west and the east. Indeed for the Americans, liberating Paris, a city of two million intramural inhabitants and seven million on its periphery, will pose insurmountable problems and thus would require resources which would slow down the final objective too much.

De Gaulle obviously disagrees!

And to bend the American general who can only reason militarily, de Gaulle threatens to withdraw the forces of the 2nd Armored Division, which would mean, for the American general, a risk that is much too serious that he cannot press the attack. Nazi forces based in Strasbourg. Especially since America is seriously involved in the war in the Pacific.

The United States cannot risk calling into question the agreements made with de Gaulle concerning Bora Bora and New Caledonia. Indeed, since the attack on Pearl Harbor, these islands have become the rear bases of supply for the US fleet in the event of the Japanese attack overflowing on Australia and New Zealand. By threatening to withdraw the assistance of the 2nd Armored division from the Americans, de Gaulle succeeds with a single warning shot in making himself understood by Ike, the intransigent American general. At 6 p.m. on August 22, 1944, much to the chagrin of the President of the United States, de Gaulle obtained the green light from the United States to launch Leclerc on the capital.

Immediately informed, General Leclerc finally received the order from General de Gaulle to rush on Paris. Around 10 p.m., the HQ of the Division writes movement orders which means traveling 210 km in one day. It’s urgent. Leaving in the early hours of the day on the 23rd, the Leclerc division progressed at full speed and found itself on a Rambouillet-Limours line in the evening. The next morning, fighting raged at the gates of the capital in the face of tough German resistance.

Corporal Sylvain and his crew found themselves in front of Paris in the early morning of August 25, 1944. They entered through the Porte d´Orléans in their MANTOUE tank. They participate in the Liberation of Paris and are in front of the Senate during the surrender of the German garrison at the end of the day.

On September 8, 1944, the 4th Company resumed the offensive to the east. Corporal Sylvain participates with her in the Vosges campaign, which begins with a maneuver on Vaudeurs until September 11, then it is the case of Andelot-Blancheville.

He is thus present in Châtel on September 18, then in Damas-aux-Bois on September 20. On October 2, Sylvain took an active part in the hard fights of Rambervillers - Anglemont then he was stationed in Roville-aux-Chênes until October 11 before being sent to Fauconcourt until October 30.

He was on the move on Chenevières in the north-eastern sector of Baccarat, took part in the terrible fights of Hablainville, Merviller, and Brouville where Corporal Adolphe Sylvain was cited to the order of the Regiment with the award of the cross of war and the bronze star by General Leclerc himself.

Sylvain was stationed east of Merviller from November 5 to 15, then resumed movement on Reherrey and participated in the battles in Alsace.

He was thus present during the fighting for the capture of Fort Joffre, which was part of Strasbourg’s defensive belt, and was in the tank following that of its section chief who was killed there by a bullet in the head.

Admiral Jacques Guillon recounts in his book «From Carthage to Berchtesgaden» this black episode that freezes their blood:

“… Gabillard joins me at this moment; he is happy to tell me that the first bridge, Achenheim Bridge, was heavily mined. It was the last vehicle of the column, a somewhat belated reconnaissance tank (the MANTOUE), which had discovered it when they saw six Germans come out from under them, patiently waiting to be alone before leaving. He made them neutralize the charges.»

Another bridge stands in the way, but this time it’s a bridge below the railroad. The walls are lined with bundles of carefully assembled «firecrackers», pots full of explosives, all arranged in great order and connected by wires. The roadway has been dug out to increase the space under the arch, but it is submerged for about fifteen meters. The light tanks halted, reluctant to enter this quagmire which can hide any trap; and when I get near them, they show me the body of their leader, Second Lieutenant Lespagnol, whom they have just lain down, he was shot in the head, a minute ago hardly.

I summon the sapper, who enters the water with two helpers, foraging arms close to the ground until one of them finds a small metal box, and he carefully pulls it out. It’s a detonator that would have blown everything up if the tank had passed over it ...

Corporal Sylvain ADOLPHE receives another citation from the Brigade for his behavior.

On board their last Arcole tank, Commander Sergeant Torres, François Bienvenue, Alain Raphaël and Corporal Sylvain

The company stays a few days on the outskirts of Strasbourg; during this period, Sylvain moved to the ARCOLE tank to replace an evacuated crew member. He then took part in the appalling fighting from December 1944 until the end of January 1945.

After the battle of Grussenheim, where the 2nd section of his company was destroyed, he participated in the exploitation of the advantage gained by the capture of this village and was cited a third time for his behavior during the fighting in Elsenheim wood.

Sylvain was sent on a mission to Paris on February 7, 1945.

He rejoined his company at the end of his trip and thus participated in the German campaign with the crews present at the Berghof.

Temara (Morocco) from September to December 1943

The division was formed in Rabat. This is where we touched a new «American» materiel this time; the old ones of the Column Leclerc were equipped with «English» materiel. Our latest technical tanks!

In my company, the 4th reconnaissance, we had inherited small light tanks, nicknamed «Stuart» by the English and «Honey» by the Americans, M3A3 (14.5 tons anyway), which had the specialty of being able to go very quickly on the roads thanks to rubber track pads and a very powerful gasoline engine (adapted from aircraft engines), the Continental R-975C-1, nine star cylinders, which allowed us to go up to 70 km per hour.

We had 400 liters of gasoline in our reserves and later learned the hard way that if there was a collision, we could easily serve as beacon torches. There was no question that turning, even a little bit, could risk us ending up with our heads cooked in the oven like the primitives of New Guinea.

In England, the division is quartered around the town of Hull (Kingston upon Hull), waiting the day of the landing, but obviously not inactive. During the day, the tanks are bricked up, and in the evening, we climb into the Dodge and take the choir to go and charm the «WAAF cadets» or other communities (WAAF for Women Auxiliary Air Force).

We sang all over the place. The English are much fonder of music than the French. We were greeted by the English in an unforgettable but forgotten way, as all my friends in the choir are dead today, almost all of them during the war.

We are only the last four survivors, Alain Raphaël, François Bienvenue, Claude Clauzel, and me.

The salvation of the first province delivered in a cloud of dust, «La Haye-du-Puits» - Normandy is fading ...

Liberation of Paris

After Royan, Berchtesgaden. The Berghof was still burning when a section of Chad conquered it.

Liberation of Strasbourg

Le caporal Sylvain fier de son engagement dans la 2e DB

Landing in Normandy,

Saint-Martin-de-Varreville beach,

Utah Beach, August 3, 1944

Four o’clock in the morning at Camp Huggate, the whole division, 15,000 men, were on edge after months of waiting. A dazzling organization, we found ourselves in a forest covered with camouflage netting teeming with life.

We landed in Normandy, leaving England from Portsmouth after a crazy trip in the belly of an L.S.T. (Landing Ship Tank), a landing ship armed by the US Navy and the Royal Navy. Escorted by planes above, submarines below, an unchanging straight line forced by the proximity of other ships to the left and right. An almost stormy sea, the sailors of the Royal Navy, sick as dogs almost as much as us. It was then that I found out that I would never be sick at sea.

I think I was the only one to hold on, very tired but hungry. I am 1st mechanic on the MANTOUE tank, my tank commander is Sergeant TORRES, the shooter is the MARTINY hunter, and the 2nd mechanic is the POIRSON hunter. We are the 3rd section commanded by Second Lieutenant LESPAGNOL, who will unfortunately be killed in front of Strasbourg on November 23, 1944.

Here I am curled up in my tank. Outside, the fog rages with all its humidity: at times, it gives way to the sun, and all the purity of the sky seems to penetrate us. Definitely, the tank is our «home», it is the only place where we feel safe, it is like a beast whose belly we live in; every corner is known to us, we know that our leg, for example, can fit between the dashboard, the clutch pedal, and the sprocket shaft.

Around us, the «biffins» are wallowing in the mud. The holes they dug on arrival last night are now full of water. My muscles still bear the traces of yesterday’s fatigue. If only we could stretch out! But no, we spent this night in the same position as the day.

If I had heard «engine on!» in my sleep, I think, even without waking up, I could have made him go. Yes, but this morning it’s not the same, the tank is icy, my feet too, and my eyes feel as if in the night a little spider had woven a web which would have sewn them up, the chin creaks whenever it moves, the skin is sticky, the mouth rough, with a small lump in the throat that makes you want to cough - and then, little by little, the memories of the day before coming back, one by one ... «Go ahead - slowly - to the left - not so much, good god! - stop - go ahead, carefully - stop - bulk… we are hit! - reverse gear, all … back up - shit we’re in the ditch - always go ahead - all the way to the right - forward … ” And then, I am back. I open the shutter, and the shell has ripped off to the right of the tank; the wing of the tank is cut out and frizzy like vulgar burnt paper. «We had a drink like that!»

Now I don’t sweat at all, I’m frozen, my feet are like two icicles, the sun is cold.

The artillery is firing from all directions; we don’t even know which way it’s coming from, whether we should have sympathy or resentment for a particular whistle. No, definitely, it’s not funny at all. And then, I laugh to myself, I think of last night: Fifi woke up with a start and who throws his head over the turret, as a beautiful astonished woman would have put her head to her balcony, and asking the biffins who had just arrived: «Are you looking for mushrooms? «I think from their growl that they didn’t find it funny at all.

This did not prevent them a quarter of an hour later from coming to ask us for a shovel that we had all the trouble in the world to recover this morning. I also think of Henri hearing six shells pass together above our heads, perhaps ten meters away, and while we were rather frozen with horror, timidly took off his beret when he discovered a biffin with “Poulbot” hair (the barber of the last village having disfigured it) to look upon him as if it was the King of England himself passing by. And Fifi deceptively cleared his throat to say calmly, «Looks like an ocarina.» And, the worst part is that it is true.

I also think of the faces of these two Germans arriving quietly in Peugeot all smeared with yellow and green, bringing hot soup to their friends from the village that we have just taken, and coming face to face with us, our guns, and our decided airs. They were coming just in time; we were starting to get hungry. While some take their basket of bread and butter, others begin to search them, and from one’s pocket, they pull out a pack of cigarettes, which he tosses to the tank, saying: «A lot in it». Good catch!

I also think of this beautiful forest where we slept the day before the attack.

We were massed among the trees like a Sioux camp; all that was missing were the fires, and obviously assuming that the Sioux had tanks.

We had pitched the tent, set up the floating lamp, and were reading quietly as if the war didn’t exist. However, the next day we were deprived of our section chief, second lieutenant Gustave LESPAGNOL, and many others who were more interesting than these young zazous listening to the radio and saying (I see them as if I were there): «Ten kilometers! But they are no longer advancing! «. «They», who «They»?

I see England at war, this country where everything was at war: men, women, children, and even their souls. That was true. I remember the welcome there, the way they know how to receive their friends! If only we had been received like that in France. No, in France, it was 40 francs for a dozen eggs! “Ah! This is the price the Germans paid us! «

Since this morning, we have been bombarded by artillery. It really looks like they are doing it on purpose, but not a shell has hit us, and yet some fall within 10 meters. Needless to say, at this point, we only see buttocks. Everyone is hiding under the tanks; it’s just a pleasure ...

At around 3 in the afternoon, we hear a huge buzz that fills the air, and we all find ourselves standing, questioningly, binoculars in hand. “These are Messerschmidts. - No, I recognize the American star. - I can assure you, it’s the Germans. - Remove the panels, it’s the Germans! « And a large squadron flashes past. «I tell you they were Amerloques». At half-past three, it starts all over again. «Put the signs back, I see the star ...» And it goes on ... we take off, we put it back, we take it off again, and then put the road signs back on. And everyone is writhing as if playing hide and seek in a playground.

This time, for example, it’s «Air Support». We hear first a dive, then a strafing, then two bombs that rock the whole earth ... and another comes, and it starts all over again.

An explosion of joy runs through the woods, and we go out into the open to see our winged friends, who have been made to wait like pretty women, maneuvering. «And boom, and wham, catch.»

We are shaken with a laugh that fills us all. «What are they doing?» And Paulot shouted emphatically: «Long live America ...».

We are quietly witnessing this magnificent demonstration. No more camouflage. The enemy has more to think about than slapping us in the face for now.

Once their payload is released, they meander around the arena, come to greet us, and start stinging again. What a joy, they do three little laps and then leave. «Goodbye friends, thank you». Last time, it was still a bit special … They lit up a German Tank 20 meters from us, and we hadn’t even seen it … Phew, we escaped.

And then we return to our woods, hands in pockets, like good bourgeois coming back from the show discussing the actors. For two days it has been raining non-stop, we have been swimming in the mud. We were lucky to find ready-made shelter thanks to the departure of one of the tanks on a mission. They had worked like mad: a real room, dug in the clay, and propped up with logs. All we had to do was put a tarp on it (a tarp on loan, since ours was on the wing which received an indiscreet visit from an 88) and settled in. We have been living in there for eight days. We eat bread and butter (the butter collected from the Germans) and bury ourselves under wet blankets so as to not freeze upright. It’s strange how we prefer to freeze horizontally than vertically! From time to time, we get up to take guard on the turret of the tank, our hands steadfastly in our pockets, and looking at the machine gun in terror: as long as we don’t have to use it ... we should get out.

This morning we heard the «blue train» again (the famous six-tube mortar that looks like the ocarina), and, in addition, our artillery backfiring non-stop. Since she is right behind us, we are literally deafened. We do not complain about it, far from embarrassing us; it rocks us with contentment.

Near the disembarkation point, the equipment is gathered.

The instant awaited for 4 years aboard a Liberty ship; the coast is in sight.

The cold gets worse and worse. We decide to clean the guns anyway. I am embarking on a very delicate operation: the start-up of the mill. I spend the whole morning; there is no longer oil in there, it’s butter ... it cracks and doesn’t want to move. If we had to go in a hurry ... well I prefer not to think about it. With this frozen mud, I don’t think we could move quickly. I no longer remember what it is like when you have hot feet; it must be extraordinary … I remember Paris, my good bed, the atmosphere of lightness and joy despite the gunshots that roamed the streets. I still see this arrival in Paris.

Paris, since the first time we thought about it, we had come to imagine the capital as an inaccessible dream. Four years during which we could only see Paris in thought, and suddenly: bang, we arrive in Cachan where I studied at the “Travaux Publics” then at the Porte d’Orléans filled with beautiful memories, the city university, our first girls ... We felt our hearts compress in our chests, our emotions were so dense that our throats were tight. We had arrived!” We looked into the countless eyes which acclaimed us the purest joy. We held out our hands as we passed, and everyone wanted to touch them as if we had given them some treasure. It was there that our friend had been able to call his parents from a telephone booth. To shout at them that he was coming ... and on leaving, laughing and beaming, found himself in a small heap in front of the door of the booth, torn by a shard of an unwelcome shell. Horror and joy exulting in the mess.

It didn’t last very long, but on the day we arrived in Paris, I think we were all electrified.

Women brought us cookies that were each to be treasured, and we took them, we who had so many that we would rather have liked bread, we took them because we could not refuse this joy of giving, from those who precisely needed to receive, we took them, even if it meant giving them back a little further to someone else ...

We felt what community is: for the first time in a long while, almost all Parisians wanted to give.

Then the Panthéon, then rue St-Jacques. Those, like me, who had spent their youth in these places watched intently, rediscovering every corner, living like a dream. Everything we had imagined was outdated; reality surprised us with its details.

Barricades in rue St-Jacques, do you realize? The Parisians, clinging to our floats in clusters, fought to embrace us; our cheeks were all red, but that was no shame, I assure you.

How many times tears came to my eyes, but I couldn’t cry, we represented «the strength», we were part of our tank, we were a bit of steel. That’s what appealed to them; it’s what made them feel good, to see a little bit of French steel ...

Here we are now in Notre Dame, all the streets congested with military cars, tanks, trucks full of women, young people in the most motley clothes. We could easily have fancied ourselves some 150 years earlier if it were not for these mighty masses of metal beyond the scope of the French Revolution.

Here we go up the Boulevard St-Germain, the horde howling with happiness still following us, completely covering the noise of the shooting, those ridiculous shots coming from the roofs of buildings that did not even have the honor to frighten the Parisians. My eyes, more nimble than ever, searched, and searched, my mother, anyone I knew. I drove upright no matter what, despising any possibility of an accident, and yet the slightest misdirection could have caused a real catastrophe. How many people came close to death without knowing it that day?

In front of the Senate, we stop. The Germans resist, fire with machine guns, cannons, nothing helps: the Parisians are always around us, irritated because the noise of the weapons prevents them from speaking with us in peace. We line up against a house, windows open, from the first floor, people with faces alight with appreciation pass us bottles of champagne. How many bottles have we drunk this morning? We should have been dead drunk for a long time, but no, emotion is stronger than alcohol, and we remain in full possession of our faculties. The phone is still working. I run up to the balcony on the first floor, which is the same height as my turret’s level, and two minutes later, I have my mother on the phone … She will come. And the machine gun is still firing … Henri’s brother arrives, his hair is too long; would he be a zazou? Soon my mother arrives … The general air is such that we feel the crowd around us, more moved than ourselves. Some cry. We don’t cry, we just look at each other ...

The German Colonel of the Senate drives past; talks are underway; they will surrender. He holds his head high under the derision hurled upon him … He does not forget that he is of «the race of lords».

We spend the night in the Senate, guarding 600 German prisoners, with our searchlights and machine guns. We haven’t slept or eaten for three days now, but no signs of fatigue!

De Gaulle arrives at the forecourt of Notre Dame in a tide of Parisians, tears at the edge of his eye. They can’t believe it. He is there, he walks forward swinging his arms around him, the tallest, around him a space of respect. An island in the middle of the Parisian sea. It’s incredible, he enters the cathedral with a volley of bells and then the snipers who are up in the galleries start shooting into the crowd. All becomes panic, but he, de Gaulle is imperturbable; nothing makes him flinch, it is unimaginable. My God, moments like this seem impossible!

The next day, we camp in Luxembourg. We are dirty and sticky; the basin stretches out its arms to us. Here we are, paddling in the Luco basin! Where children usually play with small sailing boats … What a war!

Half an hour later, I go down Boul-Mich, calm like Baptiste, with my clean clothes, exactly as I had in my youth; the barricades have already been removed, I go home as if I came home after my day’s work … a day that would have lasted 4 years!

An acquaintance, a girl who was on my tank in front of the Senate and who had devoured us with her big eyes, accompanies me. She follows me as if I were an extra-terrestrial, then I take her home, a small room in a hotel on rue Monsieur le Prince. She is an adorable girl. She doesn’t speak much, but she listens to me sing my old songs on my guitar, and it makes me feel good. She doesn’t sing, but the troubadour comes back to me.

Thank you, Gréco (her name is Gréco, that’s a pretty name!)

In the evening, we move with our crawler trailers to set up the Tuileries fair. The public always follows us, calm and smiling, and then we move to the Bois de Boulogne, where we set up our nomadic camp for a few days ...

A few days, yes a few unforgettable days, where habits are resumed, where we are looking for our friends, where we become ourselves again, with a small addition, the happy face of the conqueror, of the type who owes nothing to anyone, of the type who is sure of his business, of the man who has just won the jackpot in the national lottery, and who is wondering what he could do with all that money. But this is not about money, it’s much better, it’s stronger. What is this gentleman going to do with his power?

Let’s wait, we’ll see. For the moment, in any case, this gentleman has become a soldier again, he is crushing the stinking beast, and, in his head, collides with the sentence that he has heard so much on the roads of France: «Bravo, that’s good, go ahead guys! «.

Who: «The guys»?

Done near the commune of Brouville, in a little wood plowed by bombs, in the year of grace 1944, on November 8.

A black beret *

* The men of the 501st RCC who wear the black beret of the tanks

I will always remember that feeling of collapse, that dreadful din, that fall; I seemed to be falling steeply, I was missing my breath, a terrible dizziness, with the sensation that everything around me was growing bigger, as if a gigantic magnifying glass had suddenly been placed in front of my eyes.

We were with bourgeois; you know what «bourgeois» is? These are people who tell you all day long to make yourself at home, while everything in their attitude implores you to the contrary, they are people who have measured and dignified gestures, stiff and selfish people, for whom, let’s admit, life resides in their apartment, in their little comfort; they have this superficial varnish which supplements intelligence and which dazzles other bourgeois; it’s the one with the purest glaze. No real heat, no real unspectacular attention.

We are on the tank «MANTOUE» n ° 69, next to us, the tank «MONDOVI» n ° 67.

On board the tank, we had a large sign with the Nazi swastika on one side and the Allied flag symbol on the other. Depending on the planes that flew over us, we had to ensure the correct logo was visible to our winged friends or our enemies.

It was important not to use the wrong sign at the risk of being ignited by a bomb from the sky, which happened to us once; I had time to get the whole crew outside, we were all spared, but our tank wasn’t!

Liberation of Paris, August 25, 1944

The Parisians clinging to our tanks in clusters, they fought to embrace us.

Sylvain, a black beret

A Stuart from the 2nd DB descending the Champs-Élysées.

De Gaulle, in front of the town hall, in a tide of jubilant Parisians, launches his famous speech that has become historic: «Paris outraged, Paris broken, Paris martyred but Paris Liberated...».

Liberation of Paris, the Parisians in jubilation

And it is there, that one evening, after dinner – when we could not go to bed, as this simply does not happen, even when the conversation of the hosts does not interest you, especially in this case - that the door opened suddenly, and Pippi called me. He was in the shadows. To try to brighten up the atmosphere, we had put on the tank’s portable beacon, which cast a dazzling circle on the white tablecloth; the rest of the room was pitch black. When I was near him, he told me loud enough for the others to also hear: «Jacques is dead ... An 88, in the turret.» All four were killed. «We are on January 26, 1945 in Grussenheim, the 4 men in question, peace to their souls, are the aspiring Jacques Picard, Henri Deroche, Maurice Karsenty, Simon Herscovici, all members of the Marengo III tank. During this fight, 3 tanks of the 2nd section were destroyed, and 9 men were killed!

How many times have we heard this phrase? How many comrades were killed? Of the 80 tanks of the regiment, 50 passed through the liberation campaign without damage, all those that were destroyed or damaged were gradually replaced by other vehicles thanks to the flawless logistics of the American army, which materially supported the 2nd Armored Division ... and in these crews, how many new ones?

We have lost some friends. This war, which some have called «spectacular», will have cost us dearly! We count each other on our fingers now, the «old ones». One after the other, they accomplished their work.

We are used to the daily encounter of the wounded and dead. We have seen them, corpses, enemies or friends, on the roads in the positions of the living, in charred tanks, reduced to the size of dolls, in the forests, quartered, grimacing. Yes, we have seen some.

For us, a corpse is like a thing. It is anonymous. It is hollow, empty, nothing.

However, when I heard this news, when I knew that I would never see this friend again, when I understood that he was gone, gone for good, that he had abandoned us, that the whole life of a man, all his thoughts, all his actions depend on two seconds: I was revolted. Revolted against what, against whom? For the first time in my life, I understood what death is and why some humanity considers it sad; it’s sad like leaving on a long journey, it’s sad for the one who remains, it’s not the dead we mourn, it’s ourselves.

What is terrible is not death, it is suffering. There are a thousand ways of suffering, but this one is beautiful, constructive, disinterested, and grandiose. Do the French know that for five years, there have been people suffering for them? Do they know that already in Bir Hakeim, so many of our people have died for them ...? Do they know that it is on purpose that young people struggle and face death without stopping, for their lives? The average age of this crew was 20!

They had all landed in Normandy. They had entered Paris, Strasbourg. They were strong and pure. Now, they were charred.

I saw, passing by the road they opened for us, I saw their coffins. There were three tanks, all black, charred, three steel corpses that represent twelve of us (9 were killed in this terrifying fight) … Add those to the others, will all this be lost? No, the French must know that without them, they would have died. Slowly perhaps, but surely.

They sometimes seem to forget; and their carelessness bothers us. At times it might seem that it is not them that this is about, that they are outside of the war. Why?

A black beret
February 1, 1945

A black beret in the Vosges, Corporal Sylvain, mission accomplished ... Winter 1944.

Citations to the order of the
2nd AD regiment

CHAPTER III - INDOCHINA

Become a man, so far away Sylvain, demobilized by Leclerc, gives news of him to his mother and his sister Lydie

Saigon

Wednesday December 12, 1945

My loves,

I am happy, I have found a goal, I am chasing it.

I just arrived from Cambodia by plane (it’s the only real means of transport here), and I leave tomorrow morning for Phnom-Penh, still by plane. I confess that I went to Saigon tonight, just to see if I had a letter … I had two! Guy announced it to me from 20 meters away down the street … at 7 o’clock in the evening, they had arrived … so we went to get them, along with a good restorative shower. These were your two letters from November 11, and for me, the first news from France.

I pictured your life for a moment, and the coal surprised me a bit. I didn’t remember that in Paris it was no longer spring ...

Let Zou calm down. Here now it rains for an hour a week, and the rest of the time it is the ideal temperature; above all, do not imagine that you are wearing a helmet and that you are limp ... No, it’s the beautiful season, the sun is pleasant, and the wind is almost cool.

Now let’s talk about serious matters.

1 ° I am demobilized.

2 ° I work as a journalist-photographer on my own. Helped by the General Information Commission and the office of General Leclerc, a wonderful man, I appreciate him a little more every day. He is an ascetic, very religious, and close to his men. He is perfectly aware of his responsibilities and lives only for them. I am happy to know him better. I will be in Paris soon; I must publish my photos everywhere to fight against our detractors.

We know here how much the French effort is misunderstood and attacked in France. It is absolutely necessary that seriously educated people respond to these ignorant imbeciles who compare Saigon to Oradour and Leclerc’s soldiers to the SS! It is the French shame that continues ...

The general demobilized me because civilians have to do the work of restoring the balance and proclaiming the real truth.

Guy and I are in the process of preparing our evidence. I travel all over Indochina, region by region, taking photos that will bear witness to these events and taking in the minds of the indigenous populations and the governors.

In two days, I’m going to Angkor ... with the curator who, for nine years, has been studying these stones. He is overjoyed to see them again; since March 9, he had sadly left them. We will stay there for five or six days.

Then Hanoi, then Laos, and finally Paris, and the press campaign, exhibitions, etc.

In the meantime, I have a contract with the National Office of Information, which pays me a fixed rate of 25,000 francs (2,500 piasters) per month, or about 90 photos at 350 francs each. Whatever I give, I get that fixed minimum anyway, but if I go over that number, I get more as there are more photos, with the freedom to sell them anywhere else. What interests them is having the photographs for display here.

Vice-Admiral d’Argenlieu, High Commissioner of France in Indochina, posing in Saigon alongside Lieutenant General Leclerc, Senior Commander of the Forces in April 1946.

General Leclerc

December 1945, Sylvain filming in Angkor.

I think I will double that next month and I need it. The only things I need are paper and film. I have placed an order with Kodak and hope to receive it soon.

It’s not easy to get started after years of military life, but I think this time around, I’m on my way. The good thing about it is that today I am free. It is I who make my programs, my routes. I can introduce myself to the King of Cambodia as well as to the generals here without an intermediary since that is my job.

If you only knew how nice the natives are and how much they love us and call to us. Everywhere I have been, I have seen this. I assure you that what is happening in Paris is as shameful as ever. It’s even criminal. These poor Annamese are not strong enough to fight against the armed bands of looters (armed by the Japanese as they leave) who steal and murder them.

This is the news my loves.

I’m going to bed. Tomorrow I will give this letter to a comrade returning to Paris. Hope you get it soon. Anyway, Merry Christmas, best regards to all. I send you all kisses.

Votre Sylvain.

On Le Suffren. At sea to Pekin Beijing Saturday June 1, and Monday June 3, 1946

My loves,

Many events have occurred; I’m going to pick up my pace, but Paris shook me. We still feel the terrible effects of the war and the deprivation it brought.

Arriving from Calcutta after my return from Angkor where I had dressed as you saw me, in my suede jacket and the inch thick crepe-soled shoes, I had to leave hastily to accompany the Admiral Thierry d’Argenlieu on a grand tour of Indochina; then Ban Me Thuôt, capital of the Moï peoples where I filmed the magnificent reception the mountain peoples held for the admiral (you will probably see my film in the news), then Laos, where ‘one after another, hundreds of pretty young girls offered, a welcome bouquet to the High Commissioner, Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh, all this at 400 kilometers an hour in the Admiral’s plane … Finally, I was back with a bang to Saigon, where despite everything, I missed the departure of the Suffren. I gave myself 3 days of vacation where I will shoot photos, etc. ... then get back on the plane to catch up with the Suffren and Admiral Auboyneau in Hong Kong.

Unfortunately, I caught fatal dysentery in Laos but luckily, a visiting American colonel gave me some experimental pills, they work, or you die ... and they worked!

So I was able to join Admiral Auboyneau with his Aymar Achille-Fould cape; Aymar is exceptionally cheerful. He did not take part in a war, and his joy is as happy and fresh as that of a young man. It makes my heart glad, and we laugh a lot. I was proud of myself, but as time passed, I was really looking forward to coming back here ...

Too much trouble getting my photos across; they didn’t fit the idea the newspapers wanted to convey. My only good memory is my meeting with Gréco, the one who was on my tank at the Liberation.

Boulevard Saint-Germain: I can see her from behind; the silhouette is definitely hers. «So what are you doing? … ”. Anyway, it seems she sings now. She wanted to take me to a cellar where she sings! Alas, I had my plane the next day ...

- But what are you singing?

- Come on, you’ll see.

- I did not see her. I really didn’t have time, and I don’t think she did either, after all ...

From there, to Macau, a delightful little town where the governor receives us magnificently (the admiral was the first French personality to reconnect with them), and now we are at sea and will arrive in Beijing probably the day after tomorrow.

That is for travel. To be honest, that’s what matters most to me right now. I hardly have time to think about anything other than my work, which is very absorbing.

Since Paris, my life is a succession of acrobatic poses, of combinations where my desires come into contact with the possibilities of realization. Everything pins up nicely, and I’m pretty much doing my job.

What I want now is to start seeing the result of all this commotion. First of all, I am anxious to know if my Angkor film is good. Then, if my photos will be useful, then in a few days I will be able to make a good film on Pekin Beijing and Shanghai. What is all this going to lead to? I am in a very difficult position because I took the bull by the horns. Now I am embroiled in a wonderful job without having seen or touched the results of my work.

I can’t, I mustn’t beat myself up, but at times I get a little dizzy, I’m sure of myself, but when I consider the possibility of a fall, I fall.

I worked like I never have before, and with a lot of pride and confidence. I assure you that if I let this get the best of me, I would have deserved it. It would have fallen into my head from my own doing.

I am quite unhappy. I have not yet received anything from France, not a letter, and I even wrote ... What are you doing, what is happening? Don’t blame me if I only wrote short words. It’s only because I have been on this boat (three days) that I’ve had a bit of a break. I eat like I haven’t eaten since before the war, with wine, butter, good bread, and whatever I crave or is exceptional, usually at every meal. I have a terrific room (the admiral’s watch room which obviously isn’t used in peacetime). I always have my guitar with me, and I am expanding my repertoire with countless sea songs. Finally, I am getting a little rest, and I needed it. Unfortunately, at the same time, I have time to think, and so far, it seems that may not be very good for me. It’s all action that I need.

The Suffren, Monday June 3, 1946

Tonight we arrived at the port, and tomorrow we travel 200 kilometers by train to arrive in Beijing … The crossing was absolutely magnificent; what surprised us was the sudden freshness. It is clear, we went north, we are about the latitude of Casablanca, but it is cooler.

Obviously, bright sunlight helps with everything. Really, I am happy, this life at sea pleases me very much, and my new friends Aymar and Dupin de St-Cyr, the commissioner, are happily alive. We sang for hours.

Every now and then, I do a concert in one or the other booth or at the admiral’s place. I really don’t have time to be bored, especially as I sleep 4 hours every afternoon. Excuse the writing, but it’s late, and I’ve had quite a bit of whiskey: tonight we met another cruiser, so obviously, we celebrated it.

This boat, Émile Bertin, leaves tomorrow, which is why I am in a hurry to write to you.

My loves, at times my loneliness weighs on me, but what a learning experience ... and then I want it that way. I think of you a lot, and I would love to hear from you, please write to me.

After this trip, more are in sight, I don’t think I will be back in France for long enough to visit, so we need to keep in touch as much as possible. With my camera, I take you everywhere, and you will soon see my work on Pathé Journal news.

Good evening. Hugs and love you.

Always yours, Sylvain.

Beijing, Shanghai, Saigon from

Tuesday June 4 to Monday July 1, 1946

My loves,

What a joke! What a country! We arrived at nightfall in this amazing city; really, it’s too incredible to be believed … Why does it have to be in Beijing that I ate my first creamed strawberries? And at $1,000 a plate! Here we give the boy who carries your suitcase for 20 meters $100, the push who takes you at full speed for five minutes $ 500 ...

Rest assured, when I speak of dollars, it is only the Chinese dollar and it takes 2,500 for an American dollar … Earlier I witnessed a memorable scene: the pay of our sailors from our boat. The commissioner arrived at the hotel with two boys carrying large potato sacks on their shoulders … full of high-sounding banknotes, in bundles of $ 100,000. The redistribution was done on the billiards table, piles of banknotes worse than Monopoly, huge piles, which the sailors carried away by piling them in their pockets and in their caps, think of it: $100,000.

Apart from that, we were received magnificently; the northern Chinese are extremely friendly, tall, cheerful, full of life, and dressed in colorful dresses. The Chinese government invites us for all our stay, hotels, and travel, everything paid. The attention is truly remarkable.

We had a very comfortable eight-hour train journey from Chinwantao to Pekin Beijing, where I will be staying the whole week.

Sunday June 9, 1946

The Suffren sailors left with the Admiral, they left me here, and I’m happy to spend a few more days in Beijing, but desperate because the weather is not for me. I have had four hours of sunshine since I arrived ... the rest of the time, the weather is fine, but the sky is white, and the light diffused. It is exceptional this season. In short, I will take the plane to join the Suffren in Shanghai, and by then maybe the sun will reemerge ... Apart from that, I wander in this extraordinary city, from morning to night, I employ a driver for the day, it is so simple, and then, he became my friend … Being pushed here is not dishonorable, he seeks to understand me and to help me, as an equal, he is not servile, he simply does his job.

I filmed the Summer Palace and the Temple of Heaven. In this world, there is a surprising calm, no cars, rickshaws that parade in silence with superb young women in blue dresses completely raised on the top of the thighs like the Parisians at the Liberation, on bicycles, the panties directly on the saddle and the dress over it but completely raised in front of it which made think of «Fifi» the finger pointed at the girl. It’s very neat, you can see how the gears turn.

Wednesday June 12, 1946

I’m starting to like Beijing, as you see, I still haven’t left. I have delayed another day since the sun came, bringing with it wonderful little white clouds silhouetted against the pure sky, a real treat for me ...

Tomorrow morning the plane, and tomorrow evening: Shanghai. This afternoon I’m going to shoot some street scenes again. I’m pretty much done on the huge temple tour; but alas, all too quickly. To do a good job here, it would take at least two or three months.

It’s a little less extensive than Angkor but lively, wonderfully alive, and with vivid, almost screaming colors, raw reds next to faded greens and Prussian blues or dazzling gilding.

I found some color film here (for photos). I made a roll that I will send to America to develop, I’m anxious to see the results. For the movie, no problem for the moment. I have a reserve of 300 meters in 35mm for my Bell and Howell. I had him make a magnificent bespoke suitcase much lighter than the aluminum one in Paris.

I have something deep inside that wants me to stay in this city; maybe this is where I should stop for a bit? I will be able to work very easily, there is a very vast and almost untapped subject. In the city, there is only one other photographer. They are good, by the way, but not enough and who, moreover, will go away. Alas, I am carried away by the momentum. I can’t stop ... though I will probably come back!

My loves, I will stop writing for now. I will resume this letter on the Suffren. I think of you.

Sunday June 16, 1946

I arrived in Shanghai by an American plane, an enjoyable journey, with a one-day stop at Tsing-Tao. Now I’m back in my Admiral’s sleeping room, happy to have returned to my home base.

Yesterday evening, all of Shanghai was on the boat, invited to a superb feast … it’s a two-in-the-morning party, with guitar and all and all.

Later, a reception at the consul, and tomorrow I may start to see Shanghai. We are staying here for six more days; and I still don’t think I have enough time to work. If not, I still leave the boat and return to Saigon another day ...

In all this traffic, you must be asking yourself the how and why of things? I think the wind has shifted well, and I am starting to know my sails.

Tuesday June 18, 1946

I’m dying from lack of sleep, but I can’t resist the desire to tell you my last story: when I finished my letter on Sunday, I went ashore, and there, I learned that the admiral was leaving for Nanjing the same evening to meet Tchang Kaï-chek … I immediately took the spotlight and my camera, and at 10 o’clock I got on the train with the Admiral’s attaché, Aymar … There was a special car, berth, lounge and we woke up in Nanjing 7 hours later. A city in «plan» only. Everything is drawn on the ground; there is no construction yet. Tchang Kaï-chek simply decided that the capital had to be here! It’s quite disturbing ... we were received at his home very simply, tea, cookies and for ½ hour, friendly conversation with him and his wife.

You know I was happy...

Wednesday June 19, 1946

Today was a frantic gallop through Shanghai in search of everything that one cannot find elsewhere ... photo paper, cameras, and, I think I found some interesting things, I leave myself the night to think ... The boat leaves tomorrow, I have to go back to Saigon to see the results of the Angkor trip before continuing. I will be back very soon.

Life here is extraordinary. You can’t imagine what the French concession was like if you haven’t seen it. A huge city about the size of Paris ... I become frustrated when I realize how much the French ignore their possessions. Obviously, we know it exists, but that’s it, and if we had known better what it was, I’m sure we never would have let go. Do you realize that all over the world, there are small French islets? When we travel today, we realize how great a country we have been… I’m sick of it!

Thursday June 20, 1946

We have been at sea since midday; soon I will go to bed. Today I have found what I have been looking for for years. It is a flash, that is, a device that allows you to take pictures in the dark ... with a box of suitable lamps. I’m so happy. I let myself get caught unprepared at Tchan Kaï-chek’s but we won’t be caught twice in such a story. Now I can take whatever photographs I want regardless of the light.

Friday June 21, 1946

Since this morning, everyone on this boat has only been talking about the typhoon. It is heading towards us ... at least soon I will have seen a typhoon ... for it is coming tonight ...

Other than that, this afternoon I did a good job labeling and filing my boxes of films. In five days I will be in Saigon; I can’t wait to arrive. It is when there is nothing in particular to say that one realizes the uselessness of a daily newspaper or letter, but maybe you will be happy to travel a little with me.

Right now, I have only one concern in mind, one thought that takes precedence: my Angkor film ... is it good? Is it mountable? Has it melted? Is it sold? Finally, my mind is clearer.

I have filled myself up quite a bit, both physically and mentally; now I am presentable, I have a very decent press pass on my keychain, which allows me to go anywhere. But If you only knew how important it is to be presentable as well. Usually, war correspondents are free to go where they please, but my dress, always impeccable, allows the authorities to take me everywhere. When the admiral is in full white, he knows full well that I will be too. I had two wonderful suitcases packed in Pekin Beijing, one for my things, the other, half for the camera as I explained to you, half in the city ... for the news of 2 or 3 days.

All I’m telling you are small things, but they vary in importance from 0 to 100 the consideration and the possibilities of work ... We only lend to the rich! And the French must be rich, especially in these countries where we are «losing face».

Saturday 22 June 1946

Obviously no more a typhoon than a drop of rain on my hand ... We passed by, I am very disappointed ... I had my things tidy so that I didn’t get anything on my face in the middle of the night, and this morning, bright sunshine! Yesterday evening, we sang for a long time, we were not sleepy and stayed in the «square» a few comrades (officers on board and I), and played all the songs of sailors possible and imaginable, and I assure you that the songs of the faculty of medicine are curated for sauciness.

Now the heat is starting to become overwhelming again; we are along the coast of South China. It’s nine in the morning, and I’m already shirtless in the cabin, the window and the door are wide open, but there’s not the slightest trickle of air … I’m dripping, but I’m happy. I love that (besides, Zou has nothing to say on this subject) ...

On this boat, I’m happy. It’s the only place where I can stay doing nothing, having nothing to do, without thinking to myself: I should do this or that ...

Monday June 24, 1946

This time around, we have reached the maximum heat ... I have never seen this, even in the Red Sea. We arrived in Tonkin yesterday and were ‘wet’ in Along Bay for another day or two. Halong Bay is one of the world’s greatest wonders. It is the most grandiose sight one can imagine: as far as the eye can see, huge rocks emerge from the sea which is transformed into a lake. If you walk in a sampan (Annamese boat) of absolute purity of line, with sails like butterfly wings both in form and its colors, you get a vague impression of infinity. Passing under certain low caves, one comes out in marvelous cirques, where the water is like oil, but a green and transparent oil, and all around, trapping this water, large sheer walls, which gives the impression of being in a well.

I will continue later, it is 8 am, and already I am flooding the machine with sweat … I will go to one of the multiple beaches and stay in the water (it is as warm as the air) all day … At one in the morning, I was still in the water.

Wednesday June 26, 1946

I will never forget these three days spent in Halong Bay, a real fairy tale. I regained a taste for water ... staying naked for whole days on one of these sampans or in the water being pulled by a rope, going up, down, playing at throwing oneself into the water, swimming underwater, water, always water ... Then, when everyone is sleeping on a beach in the sun, get down to swim in this great silence, go away with your friend in this dazzling immensity, and find yourself two or three kilometers away on another island barely within earshot and eating delicious little oysters, very difficult to open, but so refreshing… And then in the evening leave again (always the same team of 4 or 5 boys and girls, officers on board, passengers, guitar and bottles of tea) set out again towards a cave, then slip into the water which suddenly lights up. With each load, there is a shower of fluorescent sparks ... and what silence! A sound silence that fills your head, a silence where the sea has its part, where the cave has its part, where our whole body completely naked, washes and relaxes ... Then again it is the sampan and the fingers again all wet, the guitar playing all alone, very slowly as if intimidated. She has never played like this!!! For hours and hours until daylight. This morning, at five o’clock, just after our return home, the big boat left … towards Saigon.

Sylvain’s camera, a Bell & Howell

Saigon, July 1, 1946

When I woke up at 5 o’clock in the evening after the horn blew as we arrived at the port, masterful, the boat had been docked for an hour. I found Saigon very sad, not a friend anymore, all gone … even uncomfortable, I went back to bed on board, taking my three or four letters.

But, yesterday, despite everything I had been told, I went to see if Commander Buis was not there ... (Don’t forget that Buis is also a survivor of the 2nd Armored Division, he commanded the 1st company of the 501st tank where I had all my best friends!) Three minutes later, we did not know which one was to start telling the first story … Evening in our hair, and everything worked its way back.

I’m staying here for a month to shoot a documentary on rubbers, then Japan, etc.

My loves, I leave you. I will carry your letters and embrace you both, best regards to all.

Halong Bay

Saigon from Tuesday 2 to Saturday July 27, 1946

My loves,

Earlier, I sent my letter from Beijing. Since I have been here a lot of options have presented themselves to me; settle down and earn money like everyone else, or go back to France, where I have, thanks to Buis, very interesting possibilities, or continue as I do, although the relationship is long term.

Obviously, I picked the last one, and I’ll probably be heading to Japan next month. I might be wrong not to begin to seriously consider my future, but when you have the possibilities; it would be criminal to let them slip away. A lot of people would like to travel like I do, even at the bottom of the hold.

Alas, the country is emptying, I have very few friends there, and all are leaving in the days that follow, even Buis. We had dinner together again this evening, he too finds himself alone, even as our bond grows.

I will sign a contract tomorrow with an international distribution box for my photos, I cannot spread myself too thin by taking care of everything at the same time. This offers me the distribution of my photos in all countries by taking only 10% of the profits.

Sunday July 7, 1946

Tonight, like yesterday, the old «beautiful American» from Buis came to stand in front of the club, we had dinner together, then we went to the lab to take a look at my photos of China. He was the one who revealed my photos while I was shooting … very nice … It’s late, we’ve been working most of the night, I’m half asleep.

I want to write to you this evening because I have quite a few new ones. I decided I’m leaving early next month for a six-month tour of the Pacific …

Then going back to Texas via Panama … Maybe a year in all … and the saraband continues; I will do Japan later. I decided that today; tomorrow, I begin to set up the case. I will leave with a very nice and resourceful young journalist … we will see.

This time I’ll take all my things, I’m not sure if I will come back here, and by boat there is no limit to what I can bring. The only difficulty will be to return to India afterward. But we’ll see in due course.

Obviously, I’ll take my lab. I’ll do portraits on the way. I’m starting to get pretty good at it; people ask me everywhere ... and now I’m well equipped for it.

I am very happy tonight, like every time I make a crazy decision; I must still have a few screws loose …!

Tuesday July 9, 1946

Damn, how hard! But we’ll get there. I now have all the details of the trip: departure on August 15 and seven months of travel. Stop of about three weeks on each island. In the meantime, I continue the chores; I am leaving in two or three days for Laos, which I don’t know well, I have only been there once. For now, I’m taking my photos from China and putting my portable lab back into shape...

I brought a lot of things for you that I don’t know how to get to you. They’re piling up in my suitcases, and already, I think one of them is lost. It’s the ransom of travel, but there were these two wonderful Chinese lame pajamas that could have made superb evening dresses … All is not lost, and there are still other things, calm down -you.

I don’t know why I’m telling you this, since I hear Zou notice that she never received anything ... Yes, I guess it is to tell you that I think of you.

Thursday July 11, 1946

I received the adorable letter from Zou, it did me a lot of good; this time it was a real letter. Well done for Lydie, who succeeded with her book ... I was also happy to find the letter from my Belgian friend. Armand Delcem, when I think that it was with him, in Spain, at the Miranda de Ebro concentration camp, that we made an appointment with all the people of the «Club» he had created. This meeting in Paris, on August 15 at the Obelisk, Place de la Concorde, the year after the war ... We’ll see who will be there! But Lydie go ahead STP.

I continue to struggle like a hell of a devil. Finally, the boat does not leave until August 15th ...

If only you saw me right now! I am dressed all in white, in my large bedroom, an entire wall of which is just a huge window, my forehead held away from the machine so as not to drop sweat on the keyboard ... From time to time, I go put myself in the shower, just to see the temperature of the water … life is good. As long as the weather is hot, I’ll be happy.

Buis went to Hanoi for two or three months. We spent a few amazing days together. In the meantime, I pretend I’m moving to this country, with a comrade (probably the best and smartest of all). We took a villa which we are trying to furnish fairly well. Currently, he has a contract with the best newspaper here, of which he is somewhat of a founder, but when I come back from the Pacific, we would like to team up together for good.

He is the only boy you would really like. I have known him for a long time, but our paths cannot stay together for long. Maybe one day you will meet him? Jean Lacouture.

Wednesday July 24, 1946

It has been a long time since I spoke to you. Much has happened since the other day. First, tonight I’m home! Really home in MY villa! A wonderful modern house one kilometer from Saigon, well beyond the «security perimeter» but what do we care, the Annamites, we love them. They know it then! There isn’t another inhabited house around us, so what? So I am installed here with Lacouture. Furnished like rickshaws, with the immense tapestries, brocades, and wonderful porcelain knick knacks I brought back from China. Large rooms with light ocher columns, fresh and colorful tiling, almost no walls, only windows.

Lacouture is not there, he is rarely there at the same time as me, and each time we meet, he tells me that he has taken over a new newspaper … He is a remarkable columnist; he plays with his readers and can get into the shoes of lots of different ideas and concepts. If readers who read the 3 or 4 editorials defending totally opposite ideas could imagine that the same journalist wrote them, they would not be able to understand anything.

This evening, there is a general blackout; this is why I finally have time to talk to you … The machine resonates in our large office-living room, a superb earthen oil lamp gives a warm light but also attracts mosquitoes … All around millions of crickets make a carpet sound of Provence. I am happy, always happy!

Since the other day, I’ve been at sea… yes, just enough time to move in, and then on my way! A boat (Le Suffren) was leaving for a landing on an island, I couldn’t resist ... And off I went to Poulo Cecir De Mer! Does this mean nothing to you? It didn’t mean anything to me either. It is an island of 4 by 8 kilometers, but what a country! What a beach! What palm trees! What calm! ...

And we landed in there, four hundred men, guns in hand, ready for anything ... what exactly?

Finally, France took possession of Poulo Cecir de Mer. For two days, after having planted the tricolor flag on the highest peak, we traveled the island in all directions, we bathed, we took the sun, and finally an amazing ride. The rest of the time, we watched the sea life, which I’m starting to love seriously. Another thing I’m starting to love is water. Now, I stay for hours on end walking under the sea, watching the fish, the rocks, the algae, it’s wonderful ... to have a third sense of dimension, to be able to go up, down, go in all directions, to follow a fish as blue as enamel, go up to breathe, make a circle, then come back down to run after a sailfish with black eyes ...

For two days, I have been shooting the photos, but this evening: the breakdown and rest. If you saw me! All dark, full of sun.

July 26, 1946

Last night I was interrupted, and this morning at 5 o’clock I continued the work I had stopped for lack of fuel. Just now I went to carry my work to the naval staff. Everyone is happy, too ... My departure for the Pacific seems to be pretty sure! The departure has moved up, it would be August 10 ... I am jubilant ... you realize: 7 months!

Last night I didn’t tell you that when I arrived from Poulo, I received your splendid letter in response to my letter from Beijing … I was ecstatic … well, actual family letters. I’m sorry to leave you, but I have a crazy job.

A good pressure shower, all windows open, naked in a sampote, the shade of the palms on the wall, the room dazzling with light, the evening freshness, the satisfaction of a job accomplished, more orders than I could do, the prospect of a great trip (the one I have been waiting for since I was of the age of reason) … Basically, everything is fine!

I didn’t tell you either that I have a little Chinese girl to take care of everything in the household ... we don’t take care of anything, the laundry is washed by itself, lunch is ready at any time of the day and by night, finally, no more material questions. There, Zou would be delighted to see, that’s what you need in Paris … We don’t see her; she only eats rice, is clean and not too young, and is a bit of a mother.

Lacouture, we hardly see him, he doesn’t have the same hours as me, sometimes we have dinner or lunch together, but in any case, we meet in the evening. There, we talk a little about the household, the day or the last trip, well family life in full swing.

Fortunately, I left! In Paris, I was screwed; I would never have got out of it. It was hard, but since this is it … I am sad not to be able to help you, but in a while it will get better. If I had stayed, I might have, by earning money, wasted the purest moments of my life, and then I would have become a soup vendor ... Here, I continue to be a wanderer, I definitely believe it is a victory.

Is it curious, for you, to see in shorthand and in a row, my life several weeks at a time?

Saturday July 27, 1946

The plane leaves tomorrow morning, I was hoping to include some pictures of me but I did not have time to take them. I will save it for the next one, and yet I don’t know if I’ll be able to send this letter to you tonight. If so, you will have this letter on Wednesday or Thursday.

Everything is going thoroughly. I barely have time to breathe, but that’s all I need. My loves, I would like to convey to you all the joy that I have in me at this moment.

I love you, send kisses to you, see you soon, and hello to everyone.

Always yours.

1946, aboard the «Suffren», in Poulo Cécir-de-Mer, Sylvain with the English liaison officer Burton

Sylvain

Admiral Georges Thierry d’Argenlieu

Saigon , friday, August 9, 1946

Another hell of a day. First, the response from the Admiralty of Paris, accepting my embarkation on the La Grandière: finally, that’s it, it’s a great day, as long as I was waiting for this answer, I was not at ease. Then, my trip to Tibet and India is more or less decided ... I will join, in April 1947, three friends of the French School of the Far East who have already spent three months in a monastery and who will be waiting for me there to make the long crossing: «silk road», etc. We are counting six months for that, then another six months, to cross India and return to France by car … Arrival in April 1948 … The team is nice, a missionary father, a doctor who has already done part of the road, and a very tough Swedish woman from the Louvre School. Lacouture would join us in India ...

It may seem funny to you that I am already embarking to Tibet, even before leaving for Oceania, but these are things that must be prepared well in advance ... I believe that, even if the money has not come back yet. On the other hand, my fame is growing day by day. Curiously, you have to be here to reach the citizens of Paris. This is how my new Angkor collection is thrilling a lot of people, maybe that’s why I’m going to be able to go to one of the only regions of the world that is unexplored ...

The day after tomorrow, I leave for Nha Trang whose oceanographic institute has asked me, while waiting for the departure of the boat, to do some reports on their activities. I will live for several days in one of the most beautiful bays in the world. I’m going to take underwater photography, close-ups of corals, well, I’m delighted. I only hope to receive film and paper from Henri-Jacques before I leave.

In my next letter, I will tell you my new address in the Pacific, and fear not, I will continue to write.

One o’clock in the morning. Tonight, I was invited to dinner with Admiral d’Argenlieu’s aide-de-camp. Beethoven’s Fifth and Sixth Symphony. Finally, some music! Today I will have had it all. Everyone envies me for taking this cruise; I believe this is the dream of all sailors.

For the moment, I am well installed in a good chair, the typewriter on my knees, Lacouture is not there yet. I’m waiting for him to tell him all the good news of the day. He doesn’t even know he’s going with me to Nha Trang yet; he asked me, but I haven’t seen him since the positive answer. I wish he could come with me to the Pacific too … Well, the other journalist is quite a good substitute but does not have his class.

My loves, you certainly do not understand what life is like here, I try to put myself in your shoes to tell you what it takes, but this letter does not have to be very exciting. Either way, I enjoy talking to you very much, even if only to tell you trivial things.

Heartfelt kisses to all of you. I am more with you now than if I were in Paris ... I love you

On the Suffren, Saigon, Nha Trang, Angkor, Saigon again, from Sunday 11 to Monday August 26, 1946

My loves,

Here I am once more on my way, ready to go; it’s not serious this time around, since I’m only going to Nha Trang, but a day at sea is not to be neglected ...

It’s very hot today; I can’t wait for the boat to set sail so that there is some air. I’m in my room, well settled, in front of my office - these boats are real homes - now that I’m part of the cruiser, no one is surprised to see me anymore. But today is the last time I will be with them. By the time they come back, I will already be gone for the big cruise ... They envy me a lot ...

Lacouture could not come with me. Unfortunately, he is not entirely free (he is still in the military) and last night at 10 p.m. he was given a mission order for Siem Reap. He left this morning at 6 am, and once again, I’m all alone to work. Meanwhile, he flies to Angkor, sorry to leave me.

I saw a comrade arriving from Manila last night. First, he saved my life by giving me four reels of film (I didn’t know how I was going to get by for Nha Trang and I was waiting for a miracle to bring me film) and moreover he told me everything I could encounter while passing over there … Like what one should never despair … Even Lacouture was blown away! We left at noon, during lunch, and now we go up the Mekong to Cape St Jacques. The Suffren goes further, but it drops me off on the way.

Nha Trang, (oceanographic institute) Monday August 12, 1946

This morning, I disembarked in this extraordinary bay, received by Mr. Serène, the manager, young and friendly. I’ll be living with him all week. The house is wonderfully located, with endless sea views from three sides.

Wonderful sun, the water is not too hot, corals and fish varied in quantity, jellyfish that sting you like nettles, the seabed as pure as a crystal, I feel that I am going to be fine here.

6 hours

We are coming back from town. I saw on my return ticket: that there is only a plane once a week, a week too early or too late. So I’ll be back by train: two days by train to Nha Trang - Saigon ... luckily there are berths.

I noticed that I had the wrong date for a long time; today it is the 13th and not the 12th.

We looked at the work possibilities earlier. I think it will be amazing, we will be able to send four articles on different subjects, with texts from Serène …

When I think about it, you haven’t seen pictures of me. It’s because I have very little paper, that I am playing a tightrope game with. I will try to send you a few before I leave, especially if I receive more paper as I hope.

Wednesday August 14, 1946
It is noon.

I am completely dizzy. Since this morning I’ve been taking underwater photos, extraordinary photos, coral landscapes with lots of small and large exotic fish with vaporous sails and clever little eyes, or jellyfish playing hide and seek with algae by imitating their color, all bathed in a fairytale glow with subdued lighting; even the light is warm, bluish or pink, it creeps like a wind, seeping in, soaking the corals that pump out this makeup of life like octopuses.

This world fascinates me more and more. It can’t be disappointing since it looks unreal; it should be cold, and yet it warms you; there is a transposition of heat onto another plane: at home, everything is transmuted, sound can be seen, heat can be heard, color can be touched, the smell pierces the skin like an electric shock ... a complete upheaval of the whole being. No dream could achieve this reality ...

7 hours

A little while ago, by optical means, I penetrated, with a microscope, inside a coral ... It is really the work of a great architect ... The composition of these crystals is astounding, they are stars of the spirit made solid by I do not know what miracle ... I walked with my device, climbing this Milky Way, clinging to the light and often giddy when passing through these dark valleys and deep, almost bottomless, that are the stars between-branches...

One thing is remarkable, that the sun lends its colors as pure in children as in adults.

You might think that he would not have the patience to be clear, that, in these small edges, he would get confused and that his light would become diffused ... Not at all, he quietly walks out of these little things, it becomes delicate and remains pure.

I am happy with my walk. It was a bit tiring: I had to hold one or two large magnifying glasses in front of my lens, at the same time as I did a laborious focusing, and all this without losing sight of my image in the frosted glass ... When I finally raised my head, I wasn’t sure I was no longer in my coral ...

Tomorrow morning, early in the morning, I leave with the Annamese fishermen; myself in the water, I am going to capture another diver playing with the inhabitants of the sea. I am enjoying myself in advance. I finally found a real subject to escape: the realm of instinct, a world where intelligence has not yet penetrated by breaking everything with it. Life is hard and wicked in this country, but there are laws, the laws of the Lord, no others ... What a success!

You must be having fun watching me get carried away with this! You are right; but make no mistake, I am having fun too, but with beautiful toys, and, for once, with unmitigated joy.

Sometimes I remember the living room at home; It makes me very funny: I was spinning like a bear in a cage, my thoughts too were spinning endlessly, like a circle with no way out; now I understand why: I didn’t have it in me, perhaps, to live without space. Fortunately, the circle has opened, now it continues, but in a spiral, it rises and widens; soon it will be so wide that it will become a straight line without alteration; I should maybe spend a little less time at the bottom of the sea ...

Thursday, August 15, 1946

No luck, this morning, the sun stayed at home. We went anyway, and the harvest was fine: a few fish in a bluish wedding dress, “clams” (shells of the shape in question), two “eggs” (other shells, still in the shape of their name, but all varnished and shiny like an eye) and lots of little blue fish like… like nothing! They literally hurt the eyes ...

The beautiful thing about this peach is that we take them alive, without bad intention ... and the shell of the creature, it’s completely covered with a black velvet-like cover, and when we touch him, he undresses and remains naked and white in your hand. Everything went inside.

I did take some pictures of «knives». These are not, as you might think, the seashells that you find in Trouville, they are fish that live almost vertically, upside down; they are very curious because they live in groups, at the same distance from each other, and when you frighten them, all of them, with the same movement, without changing their formation a bit, move up a notch in the space like lightning.

On my way back upstairs, I arrived for a snack. It was the birthday of Marie-France, one of the little girls in the house.

All of a sudden, the sky is cloudy; it’s almost dark and suddenly… it cracks! The rain bursts on the leaves, a fresh and flashy rolling, we hear each drop crashing, screaming in surprise, a little happy draft envelops you, it is good now, besides the sky is already scrubbed, the last drops fall one by one, it’s over.

Friday August 16, 1946

Really, I’m out of luck, no sun again this morning ... plus I have film that broke in my camera. All morning we have been chasing jumping fish, needless to say, they are not very practical to catch! They jump, they crawl, they swim, they do everything. Alas, they are awful. You can’t have it all.

Saturday August 17, 1946 in 8 hours The train will leave ; a strange train where the civilian is something unknown or almost. Soldiers, Annamites. A sleeping car divided into 2nd and 1st class. The countryside passes by: palm trees, very green meadows where, in packs of five or six, circulate the small conical and white hats of the Annamese. I did not put myself in the compartment reserved for officers. They annoy me. I am surrounded by «Niacs». They look at me, wide-eyed, as I continue quietly typing on the machine.

I am very happy with my stay, I believe it will be successful, and anyway, I will have spent a few days among the most beautiful fish in the world. Many people have passed through here, in the days of the splendor of France, princes have traveled thousands of kilometers to come and admire these rainbows of the sea, but none can boast of having entered their home, to have contemplated them, without artifice, in their most intimate life - I have the impression to have made an indiscretion, to have looked through a keyhole, to have entered as in a dream in a forbidden world.

I don’t understand how beings can have a sense of wholeness by staying put, they are made differently than me, they don’t need to see to understand (I’m talking about intellectuals who can study the world in an office).

I am surely younger since I have an eager attraction to see, to hear, to mingle with all creatures and their creations. Now archeology tempts me, that these arid stones seem alive to me. It was Angkor that shook me: how did they come to this art? How did it come about that these people had such a pure style? I will probably understand that in a year when I am at their father’s house.

I jump from one subject to another with a flippancy that is surely difficult to read, but in the end, all this is held together, it is to the discovery that I left, I was not very pure at the start, but today now that I am a little pruned, I can already vibrate more widely in contact with the world.

When I returned from Algiers, Lydia gave me «Le Silence de la Mer»; I had read it all at once, on the return train, and at the end, I had the impression that my head was splitting in two, that my body was able to perceive everything… Why? I don’t know. An hour later, it was all over, and I only had the memory of a beautiful book. Right now, and for some time now, I have the same feeling, but this time it’s mine, not dependent on anyone else.

I don’t know if you understand what I’m saying, I have trouble expressing myself, I can’t write, I would like to learn; it is you who will suffer ...

I’m returning from the dining car … What a pompous word to call this poor fellow stuck in a car. It is quite simply a Chinese who is installed in a freight car … On the other hand, we eat better than anywhere, we can order what we want: roast chicken, ham omelet, or a packet of cigarettes, everything is there - we make Annamese, Chinese or French dishes in front of you over a small wood fire and without artifice, which we eat with chopsticks or forks.

These people are amazing; in the end, we forget about the grimy decor to consider only what we came to do ...

«Fontiete!” Hundreds of merchants rush at us; green and sour oranges, sweet bananas like those found in Paris candied, Chinese soups, a terrible hubbub, it’s a market where the train would be the center ... it has become a belly, a belly that buys, who haggles, it’s deafening.

Sunday August 18, 1946

Eight hours of sleep in one go, awakened by the cries of the coffee vendors; they are there, a table by the window, a small fire behind, themselves installed on stools with their wives and their children. A pretty young girl with clean shining teeth - something extraordinary in this country where everyone chews betel - tastes her coffee, radiant. I can’t stand it, I get off my bunk with my camera, it’s right under my window, I literally bombard it. I go out, everything is bright this morning, I take pictures of women, children, well thirty-six pictures of everyday Annamese life… that will be of use to me later. It was worth spending two days on the train alone. On a plane it takes an hour, but that’s so fucked up.

Saigon - Midnight

Here I am at home; Lacouture has not yet returned from Siem Reap, I am all alone with the oil lamp (always these blackouts). What a joy to come home, to find everything where we left it, I feel good and happy. Coming in after a few days of being away, I still have a little pang ... what’s new? Letters? - no, still nothing … my departure unchanged, no good or bad news …

I installed the beautiful seashells that I brought from Nha Trang on the tables, they make wonderful ashtrays… The guitar has returned to its place … I am at home alone, I’m going to meet my Swedish friend so beautiful and so cheerful and then the house is mine alone tonight.

Tuesday August 20, 1946

It is 5 o’clock in the evening, I am all dizzy, I am horribly sleepy, I make a desperate effort to last until dinner. There is almost no light in Saigon at the moment, sometimes at night. Last night I walked into the lab at 8 o’clock … I left this morning at 7 o’clock. I worked eleven hours without stopping for a moment. The result: a collection of photos like never before! At 10 a.m. I went to the naval staff with my photos under my arm. They were completely blown away.

I really believe that there have never been such pure pictures like this ... They are Dantesque landscapes, or sometimes views of paradise - for fish, of course. I am intoxicated with the joy of having succeeded in returning to these environments which are so dear to my heart. In addition, it is very difficult to see the brightness in the water, and I was very afraid that I had made some fundamental mistakes.

It may seem odd to you that I attach so much importance to simple photos, but I must tell you that now I am entering the realm of discovery. Few people have embarked on this; it’s only the scientists who have tested it, but they don’t know what the composition is. For me, it’s different, what interests me is precisely the sensory part, the difficulty is to convey feelings of art and poetry by technical means.

We also saw our room, which is very luxurious. Monday 26th we embark, and on the morning of the 27th we set sail ...

Tonight I’m probably going to start the other night’s session again - there is only power at night - and I still have a lot of work overdue.

This afternoon, I’m going to take nudes with an extremely beautiful girl. I have already done a few tests with her, and you should know that she is very photogenic. At home, it’s very practical: there are large, even surfaces, good light, and I have installed a set of mirrors to reflect the light as I wish - nothing is better than sunlight ...

“Hath o” (which is pronounced HatAo) is cleaning up thoroughly. During our absence, she took the opportunity to take a few days, and the house was really in a bad state. There is no dust here, but there are lots of critters; spiders, geckos, and others who have a blast! I have prepared many things for you so that you will have them, before I go to the distant seas, some idea about my life in general. First, my half Chinese, half French business card: in China, someone who does not have their card in Chinese is negligent; it is used for everything, it is a real pass; in their minds, someone who doesn’t is probably an uninformed stranger, and any means are good to extract money from him ...

Photos on the back of which you will find the necessary explanations. Finally, I will try to send you as many documents as possible.

Now I’m going to have loads of stories to send, and I seriously expect them to get into good newspapers.

For the matter of mail during the voyage, the naval post will try to reach us every month ... it is not reliable at all, it will simply depend on the means of transport they can use. From me to you, I will manage to send you my reports and my «newspaper letters» in one package.

I have to work for Information again from here … They will pay me at the Banque de Paris, I prefer everything to be in Francs.

I am very annoyed because I have not yet received the photo equipment supplies that I ordered from Henri-Jacques through Commander Buis. If I don’t have it before I leave, I don’t know how I’m going to do it ... well we’ll see ... There is still hope on the plane which normally arrives on Friday; unfortunately it usually happens on Saturday or Sunday and, by the time the distribution takes place, I may well miss the boat by an hour. Too bad that this doesn’t bother me at all: Lacouture, once again, is scandalized ...

Thursday August 22, 1946

10 am, I worked all night again; only this time it’s for me exclusively. I just made a complete collection of my best shots in large 30 x 40 format. Huge photos that alone can fill a wall, and what’s more, drawn impeccably, flawlessly. I had waited a long time to pay myself this luxury, I kept a beautiful box of paper that I had in Calcutta. There are a bit of all genres: underwater views, portraits of men and women all extremely different from each other, children, views of old stones, of Beijing and elsewhere, nudes, close-ups of things of all kinds, etc.

I think I’ve never been in such good shape, I am not tired at all, and even I would be ... I will have time to rest on board during our 4,000 km of non-stop sea. You realize, Saigon - Noumea … (we no longer stop in Manila, this trip is done in one go.)

I can tell you right now that I will be spending Christmas and New Year in Tahiti. Then the fjords of New Zealand and Australia. The program is very nice, especially since no one is in a hurry and we will have time to take it seriously.

Under the glass of my office, one of my large photos gives me the impression of perpetually gazing into the sea, the fish are a bit frozen, but you can admire them better this way.

Tonight, Lacouture and I are gentrifying, having dinner, going to the movies, and now we are enjoying the light ... It is so rare to have electricity in our neighborhood! We haven’t had any since before I left for Nha Trang.

I just made a mark for myself this time around, and I couldn’t do without it. I started developing it this afternoon and already in my photos you can see my signature right there. Everyone agrees that she is pretty, but she is simple!

Saturday, August 24, 1946

After lunch. I’m dead, again all night yesterday, now it’s over, and I’ve even photographed it for you!

Earlier at the club, I was asked for lots of portraits again. No! We are closed … On the other hand, a wonderfully beautiful girl enters at this moment …

A mestizo like I’ve never seen, perfect. I was determined to find her (I’m well enough known to afford this stuff now) …

She will come here tomorrow morning … I’ll shoot later … on the boat … I’ll send her a test … I’m delighted, it will be a treat. Alas, I don’t think she agrees to pose nude; she is very young!

I’ll send you this letter later. I need to wiggle my cerebellum so that I don’t forget anything … It’s funny not to be there and to leave anyway! I haven’t prepared anything yet. I will do all of this on Sunday evening, after the little party that we have prepared, Jean Lacouture and I ... Two big events: I’m leaving, and for him, it’s the keel, he’s demobilized!

My loves, I leave you, I will continue to write to you as now, you will receive everything by brochure.

I love you, I send you both heartfelt kisses, see you soon.

Always yours, Sylvain

P.S. Friendship for All!

Correction: I am missing some elements for my articles. Jean Lacouture will send them to you in the next mail. I will immediately check if I still haven’t received anything from you!

Midnight

I ran all afternoon, the package didn’t arrive! I will be leaving for seven months in countries where there is no possibility of refueling without a film, you will admit that it is a bit strong ... I don’t care, but I should be mad with rage ...

However, Zou’s fantastic August 5 letter has arrived and I hope to have more tomorrow morning. Anyway, with this story, I missed the plane and this letter won’t go out until next week.

Monday August 26, 1946

Last night, a wonderful farewell ... It lasted until this morning ... No further letters ... No packages ... I am on board in a quarter of an hour. I’m happy … happy … Goodbye!

On board the La Grandière,

Wednesday August 28, 1946

My loves,

Captain Burot - the man who organized our trip, one who knows this part of the world well - said to me the day before I left, staring me in the eye and hammering each syllable heavily:

- «You won’t come back!» Do you hear Sylvain? You won’t be coming back!»

Of course, I will come back … They do not know me, both of them, they take me for a «poet». Watching me play the guitar, they imagine that I was born with it, that it just works. When they see my photos, they readily believe that they come true without effort ... How do you expect that a photo of a small Chinese horse on a cloud coming down from paradise to visit the earth, it is a work of real technique … They do not imagine this sheet of photographic paper going through the successive and normal baths of any photo… they do not realize that for all this, I have worked whole nights, nights without any poetry, factory nights ...

- «You will not come back ...» What do they know?

Deep down, I’m unfair, that’s proof of the esteem they give me here; it just proves that I was successful, that the goal has been achieved, and that my work touches them where I want it, since they completely forget the technique and only see what I want them to see.

I remember the time when my photos were found to be «sharp» ...

- «How do you manage to have such clear pictures?»

Today it is: «How curious, the bottom of the sea, how beautiful! «It wasn’t until a long time later that I was asked how I did it, and it was almost out of politeness ... It seems normal.

The day before last night, I had a great time. In the afternoon, I moved out, set up my room onboard, and then went to dinner. When I arrived in the saloon, the officers on board had a funny look, a kind smile … On my plate, a wonderful bouquet of flowers with a “Bon voyage” card. A young girl brought it in earlier.

It took a long time before I realized who … No one had seen her, she had given it to a sailor … Then I realized: a good girl, disguised as a photographer, that I may be the only one to have pretended to take seriously ...

Around 10 o’clock, I went back to land to go to the Press Club to say a last goodbye ... Jacques Sallebert, the radio man, was there, as always, everywhere with his sound truck. «Hi old man! Have fun, you didn’t steal it! Then the others:

- Will you come back?

- Today, you’re really hitting us, we were used to seeing you coming back regularly, with lots of fuss ... but, in seven months, who will still be here?

- We’re so happy for you old man…

- I know you’ll come back, said a girl, the one I love the most, and who is my friend, the only one who gave me sadness at the start. My beautiful Swedish girl from Shanghai and Halong Bay. - But at that moment, I will no longer be there; where will I be, in Japan, in France, in Sweden, where?

And above all, don’t forget to go to Moorea just in front of Tahiti, I assure you that it is the most beautiful corner of the world; I stayed there for a year! (This is obviously high praise from this girl who could never stay put.) - Maybe I’ll go back when I’m old and ugly ...

I took her home; when we kissed, there was a small common tear … From Shanghai, we had lost, found each other, through the reports, and a strong friendship had been created between us … I liked this fantastic and changeable girl, beautiful as it is hardly allowed to be, making men run in all directions, playing one day at the unaffordable socialite and the next day at the island girl, hot and voluptuous ...

She, she understood that I will come back, she knows me well, we are similar; she knows very well that we need people around us, that we need adventures, difficulties, just to see how we will get by ...

- «Go back to the club, and give a “cool” to this poor photographer, the bouquet of flowers is so nice ...»

I got back up, I did a «cool», a big one, then Lacouture and Jacky accompanied me on board, to my room, they looked at everything, admired, with sad and happy eyes at the same time ...

- Goodbye, see you soon Jean, at the end of March in Saigon and the return to France by car in April of 48 … See you in Calcutta in October of 47?

- Sure old man, goodbye ...

At 7 am we leave Saigon.

CHAPTER IV

Le Pacific : life on board the La Grandière

We are off the coast of Borneo. Tonight the sun went down in a wonderful way, it must have felt simple, just two colors: the sea and the sky were the same bright blue-gray, but one was matte, the other was shiny … This sky, it looked like gouache, it seemed to have a place, and we could have estimated its distance. The water went right up to him, and one might have feared that it would wet him.

I looked down for hours. I was trying to picture to myself the bottom, the bottom of the valley … What a teeming world there must be in this immense space. How do you expect that in Paris, we can imagine such a scale? You have to be there, tell yourself that you are at an altitude of 3 or 4,000 meters and that between yourself and the background everything is filled with living beings.

Buis, Jean Lacouture and Sylvain meet in Paris 40 years later.

To travel for days and days without stopping on this interminable expanse, to advance always and to never reach the end or almost never. There, we realize the immensity of the world ...

I am happy, I am well. For a few days now, I have been completely acclimatized: all brown, barefoot, shirt open to the waist where the air full of the scents of the sea penetrates without any discomfort, always in good shape, never low points ... Here is the truth.

The air is soft, the body no longer exists, there are only sounds, which enter you and tell you about life.

Nothing matters anymore, day or night, sleep or waking; there is only room for great feelings, time is losing its hold, only sky and sea are within you.

Zulu Sea, we leave Borneo on the right, Celebes Sea … Soon, the Coral Sea … All these small seas are different; each one has its color, its winds, its sky. Each one speaks to you differently. What will the Coral Sea tell me? His name alone enchants me.

I love this boat, it’s a human scale boat; it’s not huge like a cruiser where you spend your day galloping through endless passageways, nor is it full-bellied and idle like an ocean liner. Wherever you are, you can see and feel the sea very close, right against it.

Sitting in the back, you could drag your feet in the water ... I stay pieces of night, lying almost on the wake, rocked by the swaying of the stars, sometimes I even fall asleep, and that’s the whisper of the foam, barely alive which moves away and dies in the night, it is its desperate song which wakes me up and brings me back to life.

In 1904, a boat reported the existence of a small island 8 meters high by 30 long ... and later it had disappeared. Today all day we’ve been looking for her. We didn’t find anything at all. I’m disappointed. Where has this land gone? So, like that, our society could enter the sea one fine day, without warning? And another continent emerge a few thousand miles away? These are things we know but never think about. When you have been at sea for eight days with ten days of navigation ahead and that we may pass through a land that had palm trees in 1904 ... that leaves you dreaming ... In the background, the flood is not so far away.

Life on board is extremely vegetative, I spend most of my time on the aft deck or the foredeck: there, you can feel the water rising and falling under you, it grazes your feet for a moment and flees to five or six meters deep, then come back calm ...

I love this place, especially in the morning when the sun is out, I feel like I’m flying, fighting the wind, and when I turn around I’m amazed to have a whole boat behind me.

If I go back down, it’s something else; an office, a normal bedroom, the «square» (dining room) which are unique in the round windows and the roll ... Meals with fresh salad, butter and wine at will. Despite all this, we cannot forget the sea; she enters into all conversations, sometimes even through the portholes. He’s a character who takes his meals with us; she is, either calm and gentle, or intractable, full of bias and clumsy, overturning the jugs, jostling the comrades in the passageways, snatching the cards from the hands of the players in full bridge.

We like her anyway, she’s a great companion, and a lot of my friends couldn’t be without her.

There is a way on board to never be alone; all the friends of men are with us: Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, Giraudoux, Pierre Louÿs, Duhamel, St Ex, and even Proust as a whole. There are a few infamous Célines, but they are very dusty, they are the false brothers ...

Suddenly, the door opens - we were having dinner in the saloon - with his bicycle we see a postman ... a big mustache, a very red nose, a cap over his eyes, finally the real country postman!

- «Hello company, there is a letter for you, more exactly for Mr. Seigle…»

It must be admitted that letters are rare at sea; finally «Mr. Seigle» takes the letter and reads it aloud. It’s a summons from «Neptune» for the next morning at eight o’clock. Anyone who has not yet crossed the «line» (Ecuador) must be baptized, the rest show their baptismal certificate!

For several days, there had been a curious atmosphere on this boat, a lack of naturalness, we saw people pass with mysterious airs …

At eight o’clock sharp, we go up, Gouelle and I to the meeting place. There were already a lot of people; traditional firefighters, very red despite this relatively early hour, at least for firefighters, gendarmes drawn from the stories of conscripts, a few bishops, priests, fishermen from Iceland who came directly from the control baskets of the «Comédiens Routiers» ... and wild!

Really these gave you a spine-tingling sensation, true savages, all black, rolling, above the ring of their nose, eyes white with rage ... real executors of high works, eaters of heads, who were doing a sinister dance of the scalp all around the bridge, brandishing above their greasy hair halberds, spears, enormous scissors, and promising cutters!

We immediately disguised our growing terror by calling loudly for the press space. We were answered with a huge burst of laughter. Perhaps it was also because we were both dressed as twins with American long johns (vulgarly called in the army «Serge Lifar»), candy red spencer, white gloves, wide-brimmed Mexican hat, and flanked by our respective attributes, that is: notepad, pencil on the one hand, and multiple cameras on the other … Nevertheless, we were laughed at, at us «the press». Well, they will see ...

They saw ... they saw very well, you could even say that there is nothing that they did not see; notice that they did not admire everything for very long, since after being waxed by a charming red bicot, soaped and conscientiously shaved with a poster glue brush still coated with paste glue and a razor horse, rubbed heavily with machine grease (the best for dry hair), the chair I had been thrown into tilted from the back and after a voluptuous splash … I felt Neptune enter me.

When I opened my eyes and mouth to see and breathe, I was surrounded by Papuans who hooted with joy, and I even thought I could hear thousands of wild voices in the distance answering them, and then again, I’m filled with Neptune to finally feel myself slide on a soapy board and breathe deeply a handful of flour, moreover immediately dissipated by a powerful jet of water!

Yet we had been good princes: «No place for the press? No no, it doesn’t matter, don’t bother, we will arrange things very well … thank you … ”

It had started with a drama: from the top of the mast suddenly appeared a «pilot» of Neptune (the fisherman from Iceland who, moreover, looked strangely like a quartermaster on board, and, at the same time as a black flag death’s head appeared on the yard, the pilot let himself slide along a rope to the bridge. In a hoarse voice he called out to the captain:

- «Hey Commander!

- Hmm?

- What is this boat? Answer clearly!

- Hmm, La Grandière.

- Well. Well, I’ll help you cross the line.»

He leaps to the helm. The siren starts to moan, and then the chief of the gendarmes yells:

- “All the newbies in the back!”

We wanted to, but probably because of a fire that we could not see, the powerful jets of water from the firefighters barred our way… These idiot policemen did not want to know anything, and we had to, apologizing of course, for cutting off these poor people.

From that moment, there was a real panic … Everyone, half-mad, started to circle around us, pushing us towards a kind of basin installed in the middle of the bridge, a jury was immediately formed. Without even being looked at, we were condemned.

I wanted to get out of the way to take a picture (usually it works).

- “Sold!

- Ass shooter!

- Trouillard!

- On the chair like everyone else!

- Keep your camera; you will take pictures of fish!”

And there you go! This is how I spent the equator, scrubbing, soaping, scratching my whole body for an afternoon.

Coral Sea. Or? I don’t know.

Thursday September 5 or Friday September 6, 1946

My loves, my letters are really very impersonal, and yet it is to you that I am addressing ... Today we skirted New Guinea, and passed the Solomon Sea in the Coral Sea, this sea which is not like the others; it is always alive, always in motion. We ride the waves a lot, it’s wonderful, I love it.

It’s ten o’clock in the evening, I just had a superb concert from Australia: Bach, Handel, Couperin. I am happy, always and more and more, I come back complete. I set up my lab, and now I can work when I want, it’s a treat.

Just now I shot a 24 x 30 photo that I had taken in Saigon before leaving, of this beautiful girl I told you about. I was put to death by my friends, they find it a provocation to show them pictures like this in the open sea ... they are surely right, maybe that’s why I wanted to do it ...

I am now immersed in Proust, I don’t know if I will go through with it, but I quite like it; what is difficult is to start; once you get to know the characters and know that you should never wait for what happens next but let it go, it’s not dry at all.

On the evening of the crossing, large 18 x 24 photos were posted at the crew station. It made an impression, they were stunned! And me, quite happy ...

No, I am not wasting my time; as long as I can, I will continue to let myself be carried away by life. I will never regret this way of living, or more exactly, I will regret it terribly when I am stopped by the years … To think that I could be a portrait dealer somewhere in the world! A man who gloriously does his 500 meters during one day.

There are all kinds of joys, and everyone could have their own, but to tell the truth, few people have found theirs, it’s very difficult, especially when you are easily influenced ... If I overcame this, it’s because my need for air was greater than my need for money. I have no merit, especially since I had already tasted this life.

For a 26-year-old boy, I assure you that the question might seem delicate … Traveling is great when you have something behind you, somewhere to come back to; a house, a job. But in my case, it borders on unconsciousness. Well, long live the unconsciousness!

Sunday September 8, 1946

At 10 o’clock in the evening, I come back from the «crow’s nest» (the little cage at the top of the mast). I’m still windy, my hair all disheveled, my eyelashes matted. For a few hours, the sea has changed, it has been unleashed, a big swell takes us head-on, the boat is swinging like a roller coaster, gravity does not know where to turn; every now and then, you get sucked up to the ceiling, then to the right, then crushed on the floor, your legs have trouble holding your bodyweight ... it’s wonderful. For the first time in a long time, I pulled out my warm jacket, the wind is so strong up there that you really had to hold on to get up. The show was worth it. It was grandiose. Below me, I saw a boat trying to follow the shapes of the sea, it went up the hills and down the slopes, sometimes there was no time to straighten up at the bottom of the hollow, then, without hesitation, it swung into the wave and transformed this black mass into a superb sparkling cloud which submerged the bridge and flowed down to the aft; sometimes, I would even receive a mist of droplets as fresh as dew delivered to my perch in the nest.

I stayed up there for a long time; I didn’t want to go down anymore; what a good natural bath!

Down here the spectacle is quite different; apart from the swaying, there are only the sounds that pierce, and again they are all transformed. This wonderful crackle of the water falling like powder, blows through the hull, sounding like asthmatic breathing. The portholes seem to sniff every time the wave breaks their level, and the poor ventilation motor clumsily tries to mimic the harmonics of the wind.

Noumea
Friday, September 20, 1946

My loves,

Beethoven, the Ninth, I begin to understand, to love her forever ...

I didn’t know the Pacific was a music capital. Of course, it is not the same music as Beethoven’s, but it is real and natural too. It is understood by those who use it, they need it like food. They wouldn’t understand Beethoven, but he would love them.

Noumea! New Caledonia! What a strange country, what a curious combination: whites, blacks, all with their particular character, with their gossip and their fads, half-breeds who are not despised as in Indochina, Annamese always themselves, good people and pirates ...

Colors as broad as one can imagine them in a dream, the mountains of Provence without being provincial, valleys that could be the Vosges, and yet never know the hoarfrost, coconut trees that ignore the sand of the desert, squares of meadows very green on the side of the Corsican maquis; we no longer know, we are disoriented. Why this softness of the air, this small dry wind, this not too blue sky that looks like that of the Champs-Élysées? We are still in Europe, Africa, and the Far East but also in all that these countries have that is good.

There is also Rome in the Pacific, a Rome where all roads lead; we talk about it, we think about it. When three people converse together, they always get along in their desire to go or return.

It is the country where we sing, where we dance, where we love, it is the country of coral and mother-of-pearl, where parties last for days and days, all life, where the girls are beautiful and offer their beauty.

This country, I look forward to, I have to go there next month. I am anxious to see the subject of this unanimity: Tahiti!

Already Tila has taught me songs from there, so I won’t arrive unprepared. The first day I saw her, we sang until the morning, someone tireless like me! She plays the guitar, sings, and dances like all her Tahitian sisters. She is beautiful as I am today; only one is equal in beauty, and that is the other Tahitian from Noumea!

Tomorrow morning at 4 o’clock, I’m leaving in a Jeep with a fellow passenger. Gouelle doesn’t have time to be away two full days, he has found a source of information and needs to investigate before he leaves.

Monday September 23, 1946

My hair is still full of wind and sun. Since this morning, well before dawn, the Jeep has been tearing us off the east coast. We squirm in the mountains; it is sometimes on the right, fringed with light, sometimes on the left, lit in the face. Sometimes, after a dizzying climb, we come out on a pass overlooking two or three valleys carved by a sparkling stream or an aerial waterfall. The coconut palms spread their palms shining in the sun and from above appear like stars scattered in an alpine landscape. As we pass, blacks with full faces and light red hair (as if they were discolored) greet us with a large wave of the hand.

Today I know them. For two days, I have been trying to understand these blacks; I went to see them live in their tribe, and most of all, I heard them sing!

In New Caledonia, nobody sings, I was told in Nouméa; for that, you have to go to Tahiti! Yes, no one sings and for good reason ... Well, I heard them sing, me, and never in my life have I been so moved. For that, we had to go to the other end of the island, to Houaïlou.

Houaïlou, this is where the missionary pastor set up his school. A school for black pastors where he brought together all those who want to become a pastor in their tribe. At first glance, I was very suspicious, I know too well the harm that the missionaries did to these people by wanting to make them live like us. I take this classic example of clothing: without trying to understand, the missionaries, stuck in their blinders, taught them «modesty»! They taught them how to dress, in a climate where rain and perspiration turn any clothing into a perpetual wet compress! Conclusion, the poor people have been wiped out by tuberculosis, and now from an island that was fully populated there are only a few tribes scattered around the wild ... Of course, this is not the only reason, alcohol has a say too, but anyway, I was very hostile.

I arrived to find a young man (he’s been here for nine years anyway), with a younger Spencer Tracy kind of mouth, bubbling with life, a woman like her, and three little girls with blond braids. Received as if I was at a comrade hostel instead of his inn, a nice and bright house, «Canaques» girls (that’s the name of these blacks) in light and loose dresses painting with lime a hut with a thick thatched roof, tall, red-haired fellows dressed in simple shorts, all with lovely frank smiles saying to me: “Hello Monsieur!»

After a few minutes of conversation, I understood that I was dealing with a true missionary, and that this man was fighting with all his might against the nonsense of his predecessors. Since he has been in this country, he has not stopped galloping on the roads, paths and tracks, to keep in touch with all the tribes. He is a guest at all parties, he knows them well and speaks their language perfectly ... Meanwhile, his wife takes care of the school. She also speaks their language and is loved by them … What strength!

In the evening, there was a song rehearsal. We went up to hear them.

From the organ! No, there is no organ … In the night, a harmonic, full, dense, powerful plates of sound rise then another lighter, held, for a long time, and the song bursts out with all its force … In the sky is cut out in black the shape of a house with a pointed roof, small streaks of light filter through the doors, one would think that it is they which serve as a support for these sounds which reach us filtered.

We stayed a long time with them and their joy; First, they sang hymns for us, then, at my request, songs of their own ... Oh how beautiful! I couldn’t keep still, I was mad, I suddenly felt full to the edge, a little more I was suffocating ... And them, do you think they were otherwise? But no, they were like me, you couldn’t stop and I also wanted them to continue ...

Don’t think it’s rhythm, no it’s harmony, the real one, the one that gets you drunk.

Absolutely it’s Palestrina *! with the beginnings of fugue. At times there were eight or ten different voices, with dissonances like Bach’s endings.

We saw them live this music, we felt them give birth to their chords one after the other, each time a little closer to the final chord which finally burst like the fruit of laborious work.

The Canaques do not sing … this is where the Whites are!

We walked around the region, we went to see them; from time to time, I would brake hard to take a picture; we followed small rivers without caring if there was even a road, going offroad, crossing water if needed.

Tuesday, September 24, 1946

Tonight, farewell to Noumea, we are leaving tomorrow morning for the New Hebrides.

Here we are again at sea, again this atmosphere of calm which allows us to take stock. This morning, we passed the Havannah Canal; the sky was absolutely pure, and this maze of islands bristling with pines had a strange allure; it looked like huge hedgehogs ready to defend themselves against a giant, invisible invader.

For a long time, we skirted volcanic mountains, all red, like rust. They are real blocks of nickel or chromium. In New Caledonia, we, Gouelle and I, visited the Thio nickel mines. These are open-air mines, perched high in the mountains. This is where convicts used to work. During the war, Americans were happy to find this source. Now the mine, after having made the fortune of Caledonia and a few trusts, of course, is entirely mechanized. There are only a few men left to dig, crush, rake, sort, and load the 3% ore on the cable car that will take it 80 km per hour to the railroad, 500 meters below.

It was «Le Nickel» who, after showing us around its refining plant in Nouméa (a very beautiful plant), invited us to go to Thio.

So we left one fine morning in a Jeep (from the company) and crossed a magnificent pass to reach Thio. The road is so narrow that there is a one-way street … in the morning, one way, at night, in the other … Even in a Jeep, some turns (at astronomical heights) were really very tight. I had a great time, I felt the car live under me, Gouelle was half reassured …

We arrived there, received perfectly in a company house, bathed (we needed it), and were on our way to the realm of the red 3% nickel dust. Even today I can find it everywhere, on shirts, pants, even in my camera!

This country is surprisingly rich but virtually untapped. Once again, I am scandalized by the French carelessness! There is everything, endless pastures with thousands of cows (here the most minor farmer has a thousand cows), everything grows on its own, without worrying about the weather and the winds, the harvests are ten times more abundant than in France, the subsoil is stuffed with coal, oil, etc. And on that, a climate of paradise for those who know how to adapt: besides, the whites here do not want to come back to France.

In conclusion, there is no one to milk the cows, and we drink Australian condensed milk, the countryside is fallow, the basements are untapped thanks to the trusts which immobilize any initiative, the newcomer is the man to be slaughtered, and France says “who cares!” How sad, my loves to see the same thing everywhere.

Saturday, September 28, 1946

Ah! This arrival in Port-Vila! Sinister … A fine and penetrating rain spread like a fog; you can’t see it twenty meters away. Time to get from the boat to the dock in the speedboat and we arrive soaked. I have a feeling that if I twisted my shirt it would run hot water.

On land, it is not better, species of plank boats, Mexican style but not much less beautiful, rather the area ... I took a little tour, and I got on board ... and no one talks Hebrides anymore!

The next morning I felt down, not that the weather had changed, but that I wanted to know why no one was on the dock to receive us? Whereas usually there is always a battle.

Here we are, Gouelle and I, back to the land. We get to know a nice guy pretty quickly. Question after question, we show that we are without bias, that we do not belong to any administration, that we are in no way attached to the High Commissioner (who takes advantage of the boat to take a tour of his constituents, he rode with us in Noumea for the Hebrides tour) so that finally he can be confident ...

He took us everywhere, explained the country to us, and by lunch we understood «Efate» (that’s the name of the island).

Everything grows here: potatoes, lily of the valley, wheat, rice, corn, the hardest and most valuable trees (the smallest hut is teak), carrot, radish, salad, strawberry, blackberry, banana, cotton, copra, coffee, cocoa … everything.

The most varied animals roam the countryside, boars, pigs, pheasants, parakeets; there are endless pastures of wool and meat sheep, dairy cows, and meat cows, rabbits, chickens, guinea fowl, rats ... everything can often live there better than elsewhere.

We saw abandoned huts, where the beams had taken root and were starting to grow again … We could plant match that I would not be surprised to find it growing into a tree.

The real work of the country, what pays us, what is exported, is copra above all. We saw endless coconut groves. Coffee and cocoa are also widely exported, and even leathers are a great resource in the country.

The first impression is well over; we spent all afternoon with the settlers in their plantations; they told us about their lives, how they started out, how they had to clear the land, how they have to know all the trades, how they learned them: mechanic, mason, navigator, etc. How to be with the Canaques, how they like them and are loved by them, how to go and find them in the neighboring islands and bring them back when the job is done. They explained to us that those who are not proper can no longer find work; finally, true pioneering work. You have to see these men too, Hercules with energetic and intelligent heads, real French people.

We also went to see the Canaques at home, those of Port-Vila. Most of them live on a tiny, tiny island isolated by 300 meters of water. We go there by outrigger canoe. The houses (straw huts) are stuck one against the other, with streets that are exactly a meter wide, all very clean and laughing, strewn with children with blond hair (faded with lime) and curly. We are far from the «man-eaters».

On the other hand, we are going to go to certain islands where they still exist … But they are nice cannibals; they will only eat you if you run into them while ignoring their customs …

The «condominium» is a rather curious thing, especially since there are only 20% of English on the island ... There is a French resident and an English resident; in all administrations, there is a representative from each; justice is served by a mixed tribunal with a president who was Spanish (he’s gone now) a Belgian clerk, a well and truly implausible salad.

Port-Sandwich is now Spiritu-Santo… yet another island. Here too, vegetation is king, and you have to fight with it. But what is most striking is that one has the impression of being on a land that has suddenly been deserted; it looks like a corpse ... Everywhere the remains of a large and active humanity ... Americans ...

There were hundreds of thousands of men there; in a short time, they had transformed the island: roads, bridges, giant airfields, thousands of cookie-cutter houses in corrugated iron, parks, sports fields, a port where one was able to see up to one hundred and fifteen ships, aircraft carriers and others; Jeeps and trucks run in all directions and at a nightmare pace, the poor French settlers have not yet recovered.

They are only ten whites; they, for the most part, left France forty years ago and find it difficult to understand and admit that the Americans were able to transform their island in two months. «What France couldn’t do for years, we have now: roads, bridges, etc. ”

They do not realize that all these accomplishments which seem extraordinary to them, were only a small part of the immense American effort, and that even at home, without a war budget, they would still fund spray planes to sanitize their homes and land of all the mosquitoes in the world ...

I walked through an actual dead city: houses by the hundreds, signs, bars, forbidden senses, fences with large gaping doors, open and empty safes, piles of wheels, aircraft chassis, and wings … Everything is there, they left as if they were going to come back tomorrow … Everyone has their Jeep, ambulance, or ten-wheeler. Even the natives drive around! The gasoline is flowing freely: they left EVERYTHING.

Of course, the natives no longer want to work; they will be rich for a long time. They are well dressed in shiny American uniforms, they have canned food for years. And then the Annamese (who were the main workforce of the islands) get excited, advocate their independence and declare that they want to go home as if the few boats we have had only that to do ...

The copra stays put and rots, the plantations fall fallow. Indochina affairs definitely matter much more than one might think.

The missions also have their say, they are very numerous and powerful, but I will speak about that in person. This morning I saw a brave sister who left Paris (her hometown) in 1901. Since then, she has lived here, with no hope of returning, looking after the hospital and the school; really a very good woman. She was very moved to tell me about Paris. She knows our neighborhood well, she worked for a year at the Lyonnais bank:

«I saw the first metro station, but it was still not working when I left. But I got on a plane with the Americans, oh it’s wonderful to fly. It was beautiful; if only that could teach them to love each other? Oh how we prayed, for our poor France, what they must have suffered, and we who lacked nothing, but then we have nothing you know, we were rather making a mess; what do you want, this country is so rich, and yet we couldn’t send anything ...».

There are extraordinary names, «Dedieu», «Delaveuve», and of course that allows for endless puns: «I met son Dedieu last night with Father Delaveuve». Etc ...

There is also mother Gardelle! This one is known to be the best shot in the Hebrides: caught a dogfish at 200 yards with a snap hook, and one-handed again! She is a huge woman, vulgar head, and energetic. When her husband died around 1910, she continued to grow the plantation, yet at that time, the Canaques were not always so gentle. She rides a horse like a cowboy, and although of a certain age, she continues to work.

Tomorrow, I am going to go for a walk in the bush, I would like to see this jungle that everyone here tells me about with wonder. I’ll go there on the priest’s horse. A good horse, but of course, it doesn’t go fast; it’s a parish horse, no more.

In the evening, I develop the photos taken during the day. I went back to the landscapes; I will have excellent documentation on all these areas. My pictures are piling up on my desk, and I wonder if I’ll have time to develop them. Tomorrow morning I’m going to work from six to eight. I am anxious to see all of this on paper ...

My loves, I’m going to bed. I have already dropped the ball and must not lack attention for my pictures, to sleep early ... so...

Ouvea (still Wallis)

Tuesday, October 1st, 1946

We are covered with flowers and «zizi» (it goes from the belt to the calves, it is pandanus, a special tree that gives species of fibers that we assemble and paint in all colors), it is an hour of the afternoon, the party is for us, we are the kings, dances and songs composed especially for us, huge pigs, liquors and canoe races ... it’s a real frenzy ...

They are adorned in all colors, there are dances of war, love, and honor, they are happy, we too, the drums accompany their songs, and us with our feet, hands, and voices, we cannot resist their rhythm … then they sound their horns with large shells to call the wind.

The canoes wave gently on the black water, there are seven or eight of them who are unwilling to leave, it is two in the morning, and we are still on deck, tireless. The sailors are silent, they listen with all their ears, bewitched.

In this group of canoes, there is a heart, a central point where everything converges … a man sings.

And when he sings, everything stops; the canoes no longer sway, time has value only because of the fear that the voice will ever cease … The final notes have us caught in a vice; the soul is immobilized in a harmonic block until the chord is pushed thoroughly as if nothing could exist afterward, like the end of the world.

Yet the «voice» is not alone; there are three of them singing, it only provides the accompaniment, but it descends to the depths of the range to catch the expected sound, it sinks into space as if nothing couldn’t stop it. At times she bounces like a hiccup and beats the rhythm out of time, it’s a kind of miracle, our breath follows her, and her two companions are electrified. Not a flaw, not a hitch; it’s pure as a mass of marble.

The man is squatting in the center of his boat, his back on the mooring of the pendulum, he has his head tilted down and one hand in front of his mouth, he seems insensitive, nothing exists around him, only his music fills it. From time to time, he gently presses his foot on his neighbor’s knee as he moves through the final score. On the front, a child sleeps curled up on a mat, and at the end, at the tip, three huge seashells ...

A native is clinging to our railing; he translates the words to us: “… I only have one woman at home, but not the same every day, I prefer to pay her than to be married … or to the middle of a song of a strange sweetness … this is for the mother and the Good Lord… or again … the land of France made war and chased away the wicked Germans … ”During a silence, I ask him the name of the singer. “It’s Bernard. He always sings, and he will sing until death. “Later, he also tells us: « It was he who taught the whole island to sing, he goes everywhere, he is always on the road.» We feel in his words a great admiration; he is proud to tell us about this man.

Bernard looks up, looking at us one after the other with his big, deep dark eyes. He is as beautiful as a god. Then he resumes his position, places his hand in front of his mouth as a sounding board, and the voice starts again, inexhaustible.

This is the soul of the island ...

We went sailing to a small island opposite, I knew that the seabed around was particularly beautiful, I had taken my goggles and a rubber tube that allows me to stay in the water as long as I want.

Without blowing bubbles, I crossed the beach first; from a distance you could follow me on the trail of my periscope; I was moving very fast (swimming is much faster underwater); I was anxious to leave the sand to find the coral reef.

Suddenly, I saw my landscapes of Nha Trang again, flatter, softer. Head down, I flew over these forests of algae, sponges and corals; but it was not too deep, I had to swim close to the water level so as not to touch the top of the algae. I swam like this for a long time, heading for the horizon, without moving deeper; I was on one of those atolls I told you about above, where the coral is at sea level without ever being able to exceed it.

I had grown used to being so close to the ground, when all of a sudden ... I found myself above a sheer wall, bottomless. As far as the eye can see, fish in schools; they swam in, single file or in front, others swam up the wall at meteor speeds.

When I made my way over this precipice, I suddenly felt dizzy, I forgot I was in the water and I couldn’t fall. Instinctively, I found myself above a tangible land, then once calmed down, I returned to the abyss.

The sun was vertical, it shone like on earth, but with a soft and vibrant light; I could see almost 50 meters ahead. The wall descended imperturbably … endlessly …

I followed its edge for a long time without ever emerging so as not to frighten the fish; It wasn’t until much later that I realized they weren’t afraid at all. They were kind enough to consider me right away as one of their own, they passed me between my legs without ever brushing against me … When I noticed an interior cave that seemed particularly attractive to me, I blocked the end of my tube with my tongue and plunged to discover the wonders that were hidden from me; on the way up, I pushed out the water that was in my tube with a little spray that, from the beach, would have made me think I was a tiny whale.

I am drunk with colors; for a whole day, I lived with transparent beings. There were big all green ones with turquoise eyes and black tails, or quite flat ones striped vertically from head to end of tail like real rainbows of color, dull like gouache. At times, like a real shower of gold, I saw tiny, flat nuggets passing by. Or, on the edge of the abyss, I put my feet on a huge rock lost in this living mass of coral, I put my feet to feel the softness of its panther skin carpet, or I dove to stroke a starfish bishop’s violet which voluptuously extended its branches on a bed of moss.

Coming back to the beach in the evening, I couldn’t walk very well … In the water, I could stay stretched out without any effort, letting myself toss around, walking a few meters with a simple wave of my hand. In this very salty sea, gravity has no effect, you can’t sink, the water automatically keeps you three or four centimeters from the surface. Also, coming back to land, you need rehabilitation. When I got back into the whaling boat, I could feel my tanned skin, my muscles astonished at having to react against the swell to keep me balanced.

The sails were still billowing when the sun set the sea ablaze, and I stared at the red water; what is going on at the bottom at this time of day?

Again Port-Vila

Wednesday, October 2, 1946

We have just sailed along the coasts of Aoba, Pentecost, and Ambrym. I had heard about Ambrym for a long time. One day, I had even met, in the middle of the bush, a brave good woman, who for an entire evening had told me her story:

- «I went back there two years ago, there is nothing left: our plantation is now 200 meters under the sea, and the hospital which was next to us too. It was 1901. The ground began to shake, but we were used to the jokes of our volcano, it is still active. Only this time it really erupted; we fled to the beach where we had a boat. There was so much ash that we hardly saw our feet … Behind us, everything collapsed into the sea, pushed by the lava which was dripping like thick oil along our valley … Everyone was safe. The sea was hot, and we kept bumping into large blocks of pumice that were floating everywhere. It was terrifying».

This woman lost everything in this cataclysm; she had to leave with her husband for Australia, and it was only two years ago that she was able to return here.

Yesterday, when we passed in front of this enormous crater which regularly shakes all the Hebrides, when I saw the monstrous trails of black lava in the bottom of the valleys, when I saw this land which is only made up of layers of lava superimposed, I realized the “miracle of the mission”. This miracle is still in the mouths of all New Hebrideans.

The mission is by the sea, in the hollow of a valley; I saw with my own eyes the black path that leads down to the missionary’s house. He hadn’t wanted to leave, and everyone saw the burning mass descend on him. Those who were already in the boats begged him to join them … but he didn’t want to leave his flock. Fifty yards above him, the river of lava split in two, leaving his house untouched like an islet. Below, the two arms joined together to make only one gush into the sea. Even today, the traces of the miracle are alive, the vegetation has not yet covered the lava … and the father lives happily in the sea among his own.

Noumea again

Saturday, October 5, 1946

Before we even got to the dock, we saw a small sailing boat speeding past our giant boat; beside us he looked like a dragonfly, the wind was pushing him at breakneck speed, his two large white sails looked pristine and starched for a pageant, he jumped on the waves like a moss forager. Passing near us, we saw Tila and a friend Virginie called Zénie who were giving us great signals. They were very beautiful, all black with white flowers in their hair.

For four hours, we rode, Gouelle and I, in their dinghy. The sky and the sea sparkled, the warm wind licked our whole body, we made a big «S» on the sea to go against it, we were sometimes on one side in the shade of the sail, sometimes on the other. , one of the girls holding the helm, the other giving more or less slack in the jib. At times, a spray of foam put diamonds in their hair and on the tip of their noses. When the wind calmed down, one or the other would step forward with their ukulele, all four voices raised the songs of Tahiti which filled our hearts ...

Thursday, October 10, 1946

Tomorrow at eight o’clock we will leave Noumea for good. For two days, it has been the most incredible mess, dancing, cocktails, dinners, hard work to complete the documentation, visiting leprosaria, factories, developing the remaining film, printing photos to give to the girls, and the family. We have to change clothes many times a day, we go from white to khaki, then in civilian clothes, then in swimsuits; when you enter your room on board, there are 12 people who have been waiting on you for hours … As we don’t have time to tidy up, the costumes hang out on the beds next to the chrome plates where the photos dry, the developer and the enlarger are ready to work, the letters and addresses are lying around on the corners of paper, the last purchases (Tahitian records, photo paper, etc.) are on the floor in a corner, the laundry coming back from the laundry is crushing the guitar which is still in its case since the performance at the beginning of the evening yesterday (there were three of them in a row at different locations, to end at 5 o’clock in the morning with a farandole ball in the room of the town hall), the photos are scattered in every corner (there are even some in the sink, no question of washing your hands) a blanket hangs along the wall (it is used to divide the room so we can work together, me in the dark, Gouelle typing); we stumble over pairs of shoes, we tripped over the paper basket ... It is untenable.

In addition, it is 4 am, I am full of champagne, oysters, and lipstick. The girls accompanied us to the boat, all sad. The little band, after having rolled to one and the other, had gone to see in the moonlight the beautiful swimming spots where the sea continues to splash imperturbably … The collective embrace was interminable …

My eyelids become heavy, but the comrades will pick up the mail tomorrow morning.

Earlier (when the room was at the maximum, like Marx brothers), Pastor Benignus (of Houaïlou) arrived from his hometown. We talked a lot. We get along like thieves in a thicket, it’s wonderful to find guys like that. He will be visiting us in Paris next year, and you’ll see that you’ll be happy to meet him.

At 5 o’clock, all of Noumea was on the back deck of the boat; it was time for the big departure for the beautiful country, Tahiti! Even Tila will be there next month. Only, I don’t know when I can write to you from now on, there are hardly any connections.

My loves, I will stop the adventures here, and follow up in the next letter. I am happy, I love you, I would like to read letters from you. See you soon. Friendship for everyone.

Your son who sends kisses to you

At sea - Friday October 11, 1946

3rd letters from Saigon

My loves,

The Havannah Passage pilot boat caught up with us to give us the mail. So I got your letter from September 23, the first in almost two months. She made me very happy, but since I haven’t had the one before who must still be making its way to join us, I don’t know if you have received my mailings and my last letter from Indochina. Mr. Bouteron’s letter did me a lot of good, and it is very nice of you to have thought of passing it on to me.

I often think of him, and if I do not write to him, it is because I know very well that he is included in the family letter ... I also think that you must have received the one from Noumea two or three days after the departure from yours.

Here, the mess is over, the room is once again livable, we have already rested, the articles are gone, the documentation is filed, real life at sea has resumed.

Gouelle is working on the report on the leper colony. He has just read me his «draft»:

«IN THE LEPROS OF DUCOS»

In a marvelous sight, the always blue sea rolls over the coral beach, its foam frills the valley at the foot of the mountain, a landscape undoubtedly made for dreams, love perhaps? Alas! ...

We are in Ducos where nothing is tasted, neither the charm of flowers, nor the purity of the sky, nor even the simple satisfaction of accomplishing any task ... We expect the most terrible death there is. The kind that drags on for months, years, endlessly gnawing at the bodies she has chosen.

It starts with numb spots that gradually thicken, then ulcerates, then the fingers disappear, then the hands, the feet; the voice is silent, the eyes become horrible gray balls which no longer see, the face is hollow on all sides, the leprosy is doing its work.

Yes, that’s it, and upon leaving it took a long time to erase these nightmare images from our eyes ...

A small village of suffering and misery; the only rays of sunshine are the sisters who tend to them, wash them, love them. The youngest (who arrived from France three months ago) took us to see all her patients.

We have seen all kinds of them; a woman who has just arrived, who has set up her small bedroom tastefully; an old man whose face we no longer see; we went to see the school where the children try to learn things that will be of no use to them … Some have absolutely no symptoms showing, others have small patches on their bodies like scabs, others are little more than the stomach and stumps at the site of the arms and legs ... Some have no voice ...

They live in a community. They can get married, and if they have children, they are taken away immediately because the disease is not hereditary and they are not affected at birth.

Two of the sisters are infected; the young one will surely become so too … What courage! What abnegation! What use!

We talked a lot with one of them, a wonderful woman, who lives in a small wooden house, pretty and full of flowers; she is cheerful, warm, full of tact and instinctive gentleness; she is a Breton woman, and with her little pleated headdress it looked rather French. She’s the one who keeps them interested in things; she is the spiritual mother, always active, full of imagination and attentiveness.

After seeing the white village, we went to the natives. There, the houses have thatched roofs, the sick seem to be less unhappy, and some have more taste for work. The sister (sick) looked a bit like Madame Barbereau (she must be from the same country); she makes everyone walk with a stick, her activity is so courageous that almost all able-bodied work, either sewing or construction, is done by her.

Unfortunately, once again we deplored the lack of understanding of the authorities, especially in the village of the Whites.

They live in old barracks that cannot be kept clean. The doctor does all he can, but he is systematically denied funding. As if Caledonia weren’t rich enough ... Well, you have to get used to it.

Gouelle is a really nice companion; I am happy to have gone with him. This former paratrooper is full of faith and purity, an amazing character, always cheerful and ready for anything; whimsical, helpful, and straightforward, never fussy. Plus, he’s fun like I never imagined. Between the two of us, I think we could shake up any audience … One more great friend!

The other night at the town hall ball, to add some excitement, I started manipulating people, then we replaced the orchestra … and with a few girls, we sang Tahitian songs. Meanwhile, Gouelle began a farandole and pulled from their entrenchments the most stilted New Caledonians. He kept time; at the same time he was jumping like a monkey, it was amazing! Still, Scout education is good ...

Along with the mail, we received some news from France. Definitely, this is not going well ... Less than ever I want to come back. I’m sorry, my loves, to tell you this, but I’m beginning to fear that homesickness will never take hold of me again ...

Everywhere you can find an elite, a family, a group of people who are as beautiful as the purest Parisians in Paris, and very often, they are even better because they have traveled, and they have seen ‘other horizons. France is beautiful, I know that, but any country is beautiful if you look at it with tender eyes. Here there is leprosy, but in France, there are diseases of the soul that are much more serious and above all more widespread.

All over the world, there are Pignon and Corriol; there are few, but in France too, they are few! Those here are doctors, whom I knew through the pastor. At the end of three weeks, one always ends up discovering them … In general, they are in small groups of two or three families, whose houses are opened with intelligence. In Saigon, it was the Lafonts, who maybe came to see you?

No, believe me, homesickness should be called «tenderness» instead, it is evil, and it should only reach those who can only be kind at home ...

Every day, “my” country is expanding its borders. I find it everywhere, I meet them at every stop, I take them with me.

Ouvea - Wallis

Tuesday, October 15, 1946

This afternoon, around 5 am, we entered the lagoon. At first glance, you might have thought there was plenty of room to pass, but as you approached you could see huge coral reefs above the water. They are living islands made up of millions and millions of corals clustered together. Many islands in the Pacific have this origin, but by the time the islet reaches water level, it is stopped by the erosion of the sea, which constantly beats it. In addition, these corals can only live in water. They therefore stay 30 centimeters from the surface, and it is a nightmare for mariners.

From the top of the bridge, I witnessed the delicate maneuver. There was a passage just the width of the boat.

On each side, 200 meters away, like a doorway, were planted two small, hairy islands of coconut palms which pulled their necks skyward. All around, a crown of shining sand, then, to the edge of the boat, coral on the water level that made the sea pale green, almost yellow.

We passed, then, once inside, it felt like we were coming home. The sea was calm as a lake; from time to time, the dangerous pale green spots, but well-marked with small stone towers. We slowly crossed the entire lagoon to its edge… We were a mile from the «cathedral».

As the speedboat pulled me closer, I could make out all the details of a real cathedral … in stone. Yes! In stone, in the middle of the Pacific ... and all around, tiny huts that seemed completely crushed.

Wonderful! This time I’m really in the Pacific, tonight I found myself there. No more well-lined coconut groves, no more natives disguised as Americans … The calm, the real thing.

Wallis, Sylvain on horseback

At sea, Sylvain, ukulele in hand

Sylvain caméra au poing, avec sa Bell & Howell

We wandered the beach, going from village to village, and the locals, beautiful as gods, all came up to us with beaming smiles. This is the first boat to see them in centuries.

The gallop of the horse makes me bounce in the saddle; I am roaming the island; the air is sweet; from time to time I slow down, go to a trot, then a walk; we cross clumps of ferns which make like a silky carpet or we jump over fallen trees. It is also sometimes necessary to hold onto the neck of the beast to avoid a low branch. Life is good; everything seems simple in this country. There are empty houses for resting out of the sun or the rain. A sound rings out, «malole» (hello), and makes us turn our heads to search out the sound. They are delighted to see us, all these Polynesians; they are cheerful, calm, laughing, hospitable; they have fairground athletic bodies and are neither belligerent nor fighters. On the beaches, they fish; just a sampote that goes down to a point on one thigh prevents them from being quite naked, they have flower necklaces that reach to their navel, life flows by itself without problems and without jealousy ...

Now I walk along the beach, my brave horse (that of the king) sometimes has water up to the calf, he is happy, and if I let him do it, he would go even further ... then it is the dull sound of hoof on the wet sand ... a bridle to the right, here we are again zigzagging between the fins, climbing small steep slopes, descending to the multicolored shells. The mangroves make a funny face, they were surprised, they suddenly missed the sand under the root, and they show their roots one meter high: you can see half the plant, half the root!

On the way back, it’s a wild race in a world on fire. When entering the mountain, the sun needs grandeur, it colors all around it: the palms become large fans lit by a velvety violet transparency, the earth is purple, the sky goes from water green to sea green to blood red, and the horse, which smells the promise of the stable, leads its rider who, with his feet locked under his stomach, tries to arrive home safely.

At the same time, a troop of kids appear on the beach, singing at the top of their lungs, dragged by a fanatic (Gouelle) who beats time with disproportionate gestures ...

« Ma-i ma-i ma-i

Ma-i ma-i ma-i

Ma-i si ch’t’aime c’est pour la vi-i-e

Ma-i ma-i ma-i

Ma-i ma-i ma-i

Ma-i si ch’t’aime c’est pour

toujourrrrs… »

« Marie marie marie

Marie marie marie

Marie si ch’t’aime c’est pour la vi-i-e

Marie marie marie

Marie marie marie

Marie si ch’t’aime c’est pour

toujourrrrs… »

Everyone meets in the square, in front of the cathedral, next to the king’s house. This is the time we would normally get back on board ... but in truth, very few take the boat ... it’s more exciting this way!

Sometimes it’s an outrigger canoe that brings us back. In the dark, we can make out the twinkling lights of our city: La Grandière …

The enormous shoulders of the oarsmen stand out in front of us, all against … fflouf, fflouf, fflouf ... the sound and regular plunge of the oars rock us, our heads sing in rhythm, then after a while, when the rhythm is well taken, the men start a rattle from the bottom of the trunk and this rattle becomes a song, gets amplified, louder and louder, while the lights grow bigger.

All around the boat, there is a continuous festive atmosphere, crowds of canoes relegate themselves to bring us flower necklaces, «tapas» (magnificent carpets in crushed and painted tree bark, with the most varied geometric patterns. ), oranges, and well whatever we can wish for … then a voice begins, and the song spreads like a wind, it bounces, it starts again …

Our canoe mingles with theirs, so do our songs, and we jump from one boat to the other until we reach the cup.

This morning I brought the king a huge photo that I took yesterday; he and his ministers in front of «the palace». I had a La Grandière badge in the corner with a tricolor ribbon underneath. He was overjoyed and, beneath his natural dignity, I thought I saw gratitude ...

Wednesday 23 October 1946

This morning, upon departure from Ouvéa (Wallis); there was a very big event which upset our boat … Our doctor had remained on land, “resident of France in the Wallis”.

The doctor was ill and couldn’t take it anymore, we took him on board with us and, while waiting for his replacement to arrive, our doctor devoted himself to four or five months. He will now watch over three native kings. I do not know if you realize, but when I arrived, he was a thousand miles into his journey, to think about that!

Initially, King Lavelua (that of Ouvea) was all in tears. To welcome the former doctor, a crowd of natives came, also crying, to bring him flower necklaces.

For a long time, we waved to our brave friend who, in his small motorboat, accompanied us along the coral reefs. From the island, quantities of small dazzling dots bade us farewell; It is a custom here to reflect the sun with small mirrors, and it can be seen from far away, and the whole coast seemed to be detached from the ground ...

At sea

Just now, I woke up. Complete darkness, what time is it? I turn on the light, look at my watch ... 6 o’clock ... I am swollen with sleep, and since leaving Wallis we have closed the portholes and the slats because of the rough seas; impossible to see if it is day or night. Is it 6 in the evening or 6 in the morning? I can’t remember how long I’ve been sleeping. Painfully I pull out one leg, then the other, and, a towel around my loins; I head for the shower ... no water! But, what’s going on? No one in the passageways. I catch a sailor running past: «What time is it? «I took my most natural voice in the world for that question; he says over my shoulder, «It must be eleven.»

I go back to our berth, I see Gouelle sleeping like a blessed angel on the top bunk, and I prepare to go back to bed ... but I have doubts, I go to the pantry, still naked: «What a day it is. us? «. The Chinese man, who seems to doze off, says to me: «Wednesday 23». I look up the stairs, it’s a dazzling day. I reflected that Wednesday the 23rd was the day of the Wallis setting out ... Heck, I’m dreaming, I remember very well that that evening we talked for a long time about Fargis, the doctor!

Panicked, I woke up Gouelle.

- « What’s the matter?

- What day is it?

- Is that why you woke me up? It is the 23rd, Wednesday, October 23rd, 1946, and by the beards! Angrily, he turns to the other side.

- Listen, man, it’s not possible, since that was the day we set sail, we must be on the 24th at least. «

Gouelle lifts one knee, turns his head towards me, opens a desperate eye, and lets it go out of focus:

- « The 23rd, 23rd, 23rd get you, 23rd...».

I look at him amazed. So in a honeyed voice where you can feel a burst coming, he said to me with his eyes closed:

- «I do not know if you are aware, but the earth is turning», and his voice swells more and more, «and we are also turning, so there comes a time when we lose a day ... If we want to continue to live with the rest of the world, we have to catch up with them, do you understand? And he keeps getting louder and louder. “Yesterday we were on the 23rd and today we are delaying the watches to 11 pm”, and as I understand less and less, he adds, shouting, “and today we are also Wednesday 23, the day after yesterday Wednesday 23 ... plus an hour ”. He turns around muttering, «I burn myself out on the radio at 5 in the morning to get the news, I forget the time change, get up an hour too early, and this idiot keeps me from sleeping.» I’m fed up ...».

And he falls asleep while I realize that my watch has stopped, that the time is an hour ahead, there is no water in the showers, and it is eleven o’clock in the morning. A morning, when I did not have breakfast, and that we are repeating so that when we arrive in Tahiti on Sunday, we will have traveled one more day; I’m sick of it too!

I have just completed «The Exile» and «The Fighting Angel» by Pearl Bock. For several days I have been reveling in these two wonders. I don’t know if you’ve read them, but if not, please try to find them.

We are again during the intermission, during those few days which separate one country from another; we are in this period where we find the sea and its calm. It is at these times that our thinking becomes reality, that we can analyze our feelings.

My room swings gently, I feel like a much-loved child whose mother cradles singing to show him her love. Outside, the foam moves away from the boat in a wake of snow. I believe that the foam of the Pacific is frothier than that of other seas ... She sings, she whispers, as if to confide in you. Brave seas, the good mother who carries me where I want, who opens the way to dreams ...

I work on the guitar a lot, I spend whole hours with a Tahitian who we are bringing back to his country. He astounds me, his fingers run over the guitar unnoticed, but I think I am making significant progress in Tahitian guitar.

I don’t have a second of my own. Yesterday I undertook extremely delicate work; my camera setting. The rangefinder didn’t match the lens, I had huge focus deviations! And even my infinity was not sharp, I had to adjust like crazy to compensate for these errors, and I won’t even try to touch it, waiting to find a specialist. Conclusion: 8 hours of work; I took it apart piece by piece, and now I have the best device in the world, and I can use it properly.

A while back, I had also had trouble with the curtain shutter of my other camera (the American Graflex) and I got into it. After sweating like a madman, stung with a few good fits of despair, misplaced microscopic screws, and after having disassembled and reassembled the whole ten times, I had won the game with honors ... This example had given me some assurance, and now nothing scares me.

ChaptEr V

Tahiti - The encounter - Family life

Sunday October 27, 1946

This afternoon at 4 am, arrival in Tahiti.

The boat is upside down. Already the exchange of telegrams between the island and us is whispering from ear to ear: «Do you accept that the young girls of Tahiti come on board with the necklaces of welcome flowers? … Yes … ” Etc ...

Any conversation where there is no mention of Tahitians is automatically destined to fail. Brains are heated to the last degree. Everyone is counting on me to immortalize in space those minutes that everyone will cherish with fond memories.

My starched whites, ironed, white as it never has been before, waits on the chair; everyone cleans the rooms, and everyone waits until the last moment to shave. We’re like young girls at their first ball ... and we think that down on the island it is probably the same ...

There is overwhelming sensual excitement on this boat. I am embarrassed. What is all this going to result in?

«And above all, don’t forget to go to Moorea,» my friend told me when leaving Saigon. I haven’t been there yet, but I walked past. From afar, I saw the wonder, but I’ll tell you about it later. Perhaps it really is the most beautiful corner of the world.

TAHITI … This time I’m here, I made it to this island.

When you imagine something beautiful for too long, you are almost always disappointed. I am not! I didn’t find what I expected, but maybe it is even better?

I dreamed of a wild island, with huts made of leaves, girls in sarongs and outrigger canoes … The port was lined with all white schooners, the girls in light dresses, and the houses, wooden.

I believe that all of the modernism in the world will never be able to change the character of Papeete because their character could be translated into two words: grace and harmony.

I haven’t seen much yet, since we didn’t set foot on land until sunset, but already the scent of my flower necklace - the welcoming necklace whose petals still freshen up my neck - the graceful hands and the light cheek which is stretched out, the joyful and multicolored crowd on the quay, the houses without mystery where the gaze plunges through the large bays without shutters or windows, the innumerable couples naturally entwined, the multitudes of guitars walking in the streets, the eternal atmosphere of celebration, joy, song, tenderness, the light wind that pushes everything as if by cuddling, the sellers of ice cream and pink and juicy fruits, already all this atmosphere, alas, I feel like I’m embellishing.

Here, nothing shocks. Why is this undulating gait, which is the mark of women of a bad life everywhere in the world, becoming in Tahiti one of the purest forms of grace? Wouldn’t we think they were dancing? Even American cars look like they were created at the same time as the rest of the landscape.

I am completely happy because I discovered something that I could not have imagined ...

My loves, I am stopping here since a boat is leaving tomorrow. Couriers are not so frequent that I can miss an opportunity! I still haven’t received anything from you except this little note to which I replied to you as early as Wallis by telegram.

I hope you receive my letters; this is the third since Saigon. In the next one, which will also leave Tahiti around Christmas, you will have: the Tuamotu, the Marquesas Islands, the Gambier … well, good food. Maybe I’ll write to you (also here) around November 11th.

I might change my schedule by continuing my world tour through Panama and the Americas. But all this doesn’t matter, it’s just a matter of chronology, whether it was India or America before doesn’t change my overall plan.

Goodbye, my loves, hoping for a letter to arrive from you soon, it’s starting to get a little long. I am not listing my friends, but give them the news of my Happiness and I wish the same for them!

A thousand kisses from your son who loves you.

Sylvain

The vahines come aboard with flower necklaces...

The vahines come aboard with flower necklaces...

Jeanine tells about her life as a young woman

It’s morning, the weather is fine, and the landscape calls for contemplation. And yet, there is no way for me or any of my friends to take the time to admire the land.

I am a nurse-midwife student in Papeete and am fascinated by this new world, which is a real hive of which Mademoiselle Bornet is Queen, austere teacher, has an eye on everything, but whom we respect.

It is 7:30 am, and the learning day begins.

From that hour on, you have to learn about the night’s deliveries, take over, join our teachers, Monette, our adorable mistress-midwife, very petite, with long braids hanging down her back. Mamakina, whose gibberish is a half-paumotu half-Tahitian language with a touch of French. When she says: «Go take mohina pitulsef», it means: «go get the bottle of bisulfite» ... Acrobatic exercises in instantaneous translation. Roast, with silky skin, a fragrant scent, royal allure. Angèle, energetic, beautiful, of impressive size, and with rather peculiar speech. Pupure, the good mother who took us under her wings. They are our elders.

Every morning, our small team of students reforms. Tetia, divine beauty with languid eyes, who already has a little girl Annette. Sarah, wonderful paumotu. Marie, prude child of Marie. Our little Mathilde, so cute with her socks, is straight out of the sisters’ school. Maeva, very cheerful and who always has a funny story to tell.

We were the little bees.

And a few men. Ah! Chou, the cook who spoiled us by serving us incomparable coffee when we arrived before dawn, straight out of a party, under the stars. The «Doctor everything is fine». We called him that because, during the visits with the newborns, it was his only response, even over the complaints of the patients: «It’s good, it’s good». He very much appreciated the beauty of his bees which he liked to invite to dinner. And when one of us was invited, it was altogether that we maliciously showed up at the restaurant, which exasperated him.

My first birthing, as if by chance, was that of my paternal aunt, at her home. I was impressed, first to leave by ambulance at 3 in the morning. Pupure assists me. Everything is going well, and I discover the immense joy of giving life to an adorable 3.2 kg baby girl. I am drunk with thousands and thousands of thoughts. It’s the best night, my 18th birthday. I am happy to have chosen this profession, to project myself into working life as soon as I finish my studies.

It was in the maternity ward that I discovered the taste for fashion, the taste for dance, for life. What a metamorphosis for me coming out of a family environment where everything was forbidden: laughing, speaking Tahitian, wearing a flower in my ear, or the sarong. Now I stay true to these traditions, to this day.

Tétia, Sarah and I lived together in an adorable little house located in a large family property, along the avenue de Union Sacrée, which starts from the sea, passing through the beautiful valley of Titioro, goes up to the valley of the Fautaua (1). There was a master bedroom, its bathroom and a circular veranda comprising the living-dining room and the kitchen. The railing of the terrace served as a perch for birds, as a tutor for plants and flowers.

(1) Fautaua Valley: Place where Loti’s bust is erected

This beloved house nested in the greenery and bathed, as soon as the season arrived, in the atmosphere and the smell of taina (2). The sarong curtains were the only shutters and the only closures. We slept peacefully, protected by family and the carefree attitude of 18-20-year-olds.

After our day’s work, we would have the choice of distractions: swimming, horseback riding ... In the evening, we go out and enjoy our freedom and our beautiful Tahitians to dance the swaying waltz, very popular here in Tahiti.

We always start with “Queens” (3), a very beautiful nightclub where everyone, posh, bourgeois, or light girls rubbed shoulders without problems. The wonderful orchestra of Booso Frogier, Marcelle Queens, and the owner, Papillon, and his cousin musicians make us spend unforgettable evenings. Moreover, we are spoiled by all those we treat at the dispensary! In the wind, we dance in another nightclub the «Col Bleu», which specializes in an orchestra of young and beautiful women, Iris, Gisèle. It was magical.

There is also the famous bar Léa, picturesque, where everyone dances the tamure, dressed in Tahitian dresses, heads crowned with flowers. There was a crazy typical Polynesian atmosphere. A few waltzes to catch their breath, and then tamure started again.

(2) Taina: Tahitian Gardenia

(3) Queens: Nightclub located on the port of Papeete

In the 1940s, religious life in Tahiti and the islands greatly influenced families and banned all Polynesian traditions. Dances were considered obscene, Polynesian songs and especially the Tahitian language were banned in school and at home. The dancers were girls of joy from «Queens» or «Lafayette» (4).

Obviously not being influenced by these «taboos», we danced for the annual celebrations of July 14th called the «Tiurai», bringing together groups from Bora Bora and all the districts of Papeete.

The rehearsals took place in a neighborhood near «Manuhoe» (5) where I lived as a child «Old», the head drummer invited us to mingle with the dancers. We loved the sound of the «toere,» a sort of drum carved from a tree trunk that we hit with a big wooden stick, and we defied all the prohibitions.

We transgressed these “taboos”, founded the “Heiva” group, and chose Madeleine Moua for co-director of the group, Princess Tekau Pomare Vedel as godmother. The musicians came from Patutoa and Manuhoe with Vieux, the conductor.

To the great despair of our families, we competed for the “Tiurai” celebrations. We were happy to give new impetus to the dance, restoring it to its true beauty and removing bad performances.

Finally, we broke these ridiculous “taboos”.

Madeleine was a wonderful woman. Our fiber and shell dance costumes were entirely made by us, with «mamas» who devoted themselves to the craft. They made us our headdresses, pure marvels. We had great success, won the exhibition prizes, and we were chosen to go on a major tour in France. Usually, the first prize was awarded to Bora Bora.

(4) Lafayette: Nightclub located in Arue opposite the beach of the same name (5) Manuhoe: Quartier rue d’Alsace

Every year during the July holidays, everywhere, at the bottom of the valleys, in Papeete, in all the municipalities, in the schoolyards, as soon as night falls, the sound of «toere» resonates. Each dance group competes to win the first prize in the song and dance competition. All Polynesians have rhythm in their soul. They have acquired grace, are of great beauty, their bodies have become refined. Both men and women tattoo each other, which used to be a big taboo. Moms and grandmothers are taking part in this revolution, and today we can say that everyone is dancing. Even popa’a and tourists want to dance and get tattoos!

The célébration of commemoration are grandiose. All of the traditions past have finally returned. Dance has regained its letters of nobility. Different dances must be represented during these competitions on selected themes: fishing, birth, legend ... each group presents its performance according to the following themes:

- The «Otea» is a group dance, performed by men and women, very expressive and rhythmic, danced in ceremonial costume in vegetable fibers, the headdress adorned with shells.

- The «Aparima», tells of legends expressed by very precise gestures, with danced or seated movements, to the sound of «ukulele» and guitars, and punctuated by the «pohu» (drum) which narrates above all scenes from the everyday life or legends.

- The “Hivinau”, inspired by English sailors, is danced in circles and is recognizable by its “Hiria Haa Haa” which marks the dialogue between the dancer and the conductor.

- The «Paoa» is a dialogue between the conductor and several pairs of dancers who mimic the words of the speaker always with a touch of humor, provocation and above all, sensuality.

- And finally the “Tamure” which is a derivative of the “Paoa”, in which pairs of dancers move to the sound of the toere, and the pohu (6) expressing the unique joie de vivre of the Polynesians.

All the holidays are marked by the tamure dance, which is danced on all occasions, as a couple, unlike the other dances which are mainly group dances. This dance has always existed and it was only danced in nightclubs where the man (tane) invites the woman (vahine) or vice versa. Each gesture of the hips and arms has a very precise meaning, often erotic.

The man practices the specific «Paoti» dance steps, sets of scissors with the knees moving apart and coming closer, rapid and jerky movement.

The woman rolls her hips, playing with her hands, head, body and eyes to express the seduction, joy and happiness of dancing.

I am happy that dance has now become a form of expression open to all. Dance expresses joy. There are no more taboos. The grandmothers who come from Rurutu (7), known as the «mamas» even invented a dance, a variant of «Hivanau». The guest enters the group which dances in circles around him. He is wrapped in a tifaifai (8). The tifaifai is his gift. It is a great moment of joy for all.

(6) Pohu : Large drum of about 1.2 m

(7) Rurutu: Island of the Austral archipelago located south of Tahiti, 600 km away

(8) Tifaifai: Embroidered bedspread with floral motifs

At the conservatory, Mamie Louise teaches thousands of children from the age of 4 how to sway the tamure. From the youngest to the oldest, everyone dances the tamure.

I am learning today that dance is an option for young people who want to get a degree, it is only a fair return to our traditions.

After the bars in Papeete have closed, we crowd into the only van that takes us to «Puooro», a large nightclub which, along with «Lafayette», closes out the evening.

Everyone sings, laughs, but we must not forget that we are at war. It’s the blackout. Radio Cocotier used to say that the Americans were settling in Bora Bora to defend us from the Japanese invasion! They also brought cigarettes and food to everyone’s delight. In Tahiti, sentries were on guard at the exit of Papeete! They stopped the van, some got out, the sentry took a quick peek inside, using his «mori pata» little flashlights ... no Japanese. The van set off again, songs and laughter erupted and like the cicadas of «La Fontaine», we joined our little «fare» in giggles, like the waterfalls at the bottom of the «Fautaua», to leave early at the end of the day at the maternity ward. This was our war.

We were serious about our job but carefree about the next day. We learned to live outside of salvation and the Stations of the Cross. My mom was very worried, like all Tahitian families, wanting us to marry the sons of friendly families. But this was not our concern. We lived by the wind, we had fun, flowers in our ears, sarong dresses, we laughed with our elder nurses.

For us young nurses, young women, the lights of this life shone, their fires enchanted us.

The encounter

It was October 27, 1946, an unforgettable day that transfigured my existence.

I’m 22 years old.

That day, Sylvain was introduced to us by a loving friend, whom I was to join after my last year of midwifery studies. He invited us to lunch in a good restaurant, at Thirel’s, not far from the maternity ward, on the Papeete quay. We were on the first floor of this little wooden building.

He told us:

- «You are going to meet a gentleman who comes from Indochina where I met him. He is full of talents, a great photographer, plays the guitar wonderfully. But I have to tell you, he doesn’t like women very much, he’s a mystic! (a word totally unknown to us) ”.

As soon as I saw him, time stood still. He was as beautiful as a god, his khaki reporter suit, tall, slender, wildly elegant, his incredible blue, tender eyes, and his eyes and his voice seduce me. Sitting across from him, I feel my heart pounding. There he is, the man of my dreams, descended from the crescent moon, along the golden thread in whose reflection my childish gaze hung. I listen to him, I see him, he transports me to another world. Unfortunately, it is time to go back, to return to the maternity ward, but we promise to meet again.

In the evening at home, he arrives with his friend Gouelle, journalist officer of «La Grandière». With his little mother-of-pearl guitar, which he called his lady, he amazed us with his French folk songs. To our amazement, his repertoire included Tahitian songs learned in Noumea.

He told us the wonderful story of the little goldfish, interpreted «On the steps of the palace ...»; and at that point, I realized that I will love him forever.

He too was «struck by lightning» as he says.

The arrival of my Prince changed everything. It was magical. I couldn’t see anyone other than him. Later, I learned that he too was thinking only of me. He was waiting for me, I was waiting for him. After this meeting for five days, he disappeared. I was lost, distraught, not understanding what was going on. Days went by, five miserable days. I was desperate to see him, his beautiful blue eyes pierced me even in his absence. And finally, Sylvain comes back to Avenue de Union Sacrée, and hugs me. I am drunk with joy.

We go dancing at the Puoro. Among the crowd, my midwife friend, Mathilde calls me: «Tchoun! «. Before I had time to react, Sylvain had already turned around in astonishment, instinctively responding to his own nickname. Curious to know who calls her by that little name. I then learned that his mother and his sister Lydie called him «Tchoun». We then discover the incredible coincidence of our little names. Coincidences, we will have several times during these first days together.

Sylvain, offering me «Suzanne and the Pacific» by Jean Giraudoux, also had no idea that my first baptismal name was also «Suzanne».

The Doctor, «all is well», who declares himself very dissatisfied and annoyed by this change, appoints me to Rangiroa in retaliation, for an indefinite period. Rangiroa! Isolated Tuamotu atoll, with a boat every three months; if even! It was lightning falling on my head, but my love at first sight was stronger; I quit and ran to tell my prince charming. Sylvain was like me, crazy with joy and love. We never leave each other.

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He stayed with me in our little house, which he adored, on Cour de l’Union Sacrée Avenue. It was imbued with the scent of the tainas, which became the emblem of our meeting. In front of our house, the fare Putuputuraa (house of worship) immersed us in the himene ruau or tarava purera’a (ancient songs of prayers) and we spent hours there. The powerful male voices mingled with the female voices, and Sylvain told me that these songs were from Palestrina. He made me discover my music, the «Himene Tarava’’ that he loved, but also classical music with his gramophone and put Mozart, Bach, Chopin, Vivaldi ... This music that I did not know but which resembled that of my Catholic church, it surprised me. I was used to our Tahitian songs that called for dancing.

He still wore his Rolleiflex over his shoulder. When he left on a tour of the islands on the “La Grandière”: Huahine, Raiatea and Bora Bora, he returned with a harvest of beautiful photographs. I discovered these islands at the same time as him. He told me about his life aboard the «La Grandière».

It looked like the life I led in motherhood; all were united like us, always cheerful. As the days pass, his kindness, his basic kindness, his humor, his joy, his knowledge fascinated me. He had an innate sense of friendship and welcoming. The first thing he installed in our house was his typewriter. A Remington accompanied by seven little white horses that he never separated. Today, sixty years later, I discover what he wrote about on his Remington to his mother: the day we met, the Leeward Islands, his discoveries ...

Our first moments, together forever.

30 years have passed since that first look; our love is stronger than ever.

Tahiti,

Wednesday, October 30, 1946

My loves,

The sun, just setting, pierces through the trees; it does not dazzle, but it is present, and its divine light is entering you.

Already today, I could settle in … I have just been shown a delicious «fare» (bungalow) for rent. You just have to put a nice «tapa» on the wall, some Marquesan wood, and put a sign at the door. There is no serious portrait painter, and the young «vahines» would be very happy to come and pose.

It seems that to take a wife, you just have to walk around with a frangipani flower on your left ear (I’m looking for fortune) and look for those who do the same. A few minutes later, when we have found each other, we put the flower on each other’s right ear (I found it) and voila. Some, the hungrier of course, put it on each ear.

The women here are strangely beautiful; Dorothy Lamour types and often even with a thinner face. They are mixtures of Polynesians and Whites. It is said that pure Polynesians hardly exist in Tahiti anymore; what is called the «Tahitian» is a breed that has been created since the discovery of the island (Wallis and Bougainville) and the result is real perfection ... They are tall, slender, extremely thin, European type with a little more golden skin color, big black hair with big waves that bounce off their shoulders, very thin ends with wide hips, necklaces of seashells or flowers, pretty light dresses and low necklines, and cool-colored accents with shimmering decorations … An enchantment.

Moea my princess

A person who has not been to this country cannot appreciate the atmosphere! Much has been written about Tahiti, but the truth is beyond anything. How could you understand true freedom and simplicity other than on an island in the middle of the Pacific? Moreover, Tahitians have immense pride in their island, and although perfectly French, they are Tahitians above all, and they are right.

Arriving here, we immediately meet a group of young girls who work together as nurses in the hospital. They are free-spirited girls, who live in neighboring “fares”, in a district full of flowers. An incredible evening of simple and frank gaiety. We are reunited, Gouelle, a shipmate, and I met with one of them in her wonderful little house full of pretty things ... The only furniture is modern, in a beautiful light yellow wood. We chat about things and the like and are amazed at the culture of these girls. For a long time, we were used to never pushing too far our conversations with the young women that we met in the upscale families of our stopovers.

Here everything is direct; it is life itself that speaks pure, and unvarnished. If we are talking about China, they are talking about the Chinese; they know them well for having looked after them, worked with them, and they have clearly detected their qualities and their faults (there are many of them on the island). If we move to the conversation on France, we immediately see that they are very aware of the state of mind there and that they know the reasons (German occupation and deprivation).

But their instinctive joy brings them back at the right time to their island and their songs and dances …

I grab a guitar in a corner, start to make a rhythm… one of them gets up, puts on a «more» and begins a frantic dance … she follows the music with such docility that I can guess what she is going to do and what she wants me to play … the pure and loose strands stand out against the backdrop of the braided wall … A final chord, a quick strike, and dry hand on the strings, and it folds like a flower in the middle of a halo of gold fibers … it’s over.

Then it is a song that leaves, a languid song to calm the spirits, the warming up of everything earlier has given way to great gentleness; one of them brings us iced coconut milk (there is even a refrigerator in the house) in pretty pure yellow cups, then it is a basket of those wonderful fruits that we only find here.

Calm is restored completely; the songs take on an inexpressible value, like an emanation of the soul. We harmonize without fear, and even if I take a song from home, they follow like one of theirs … I don’t recognize it anymore as it gets full.

In a little while, we will be going to the beach, we will bathe without cutting the soles of our feet on the nasty little corals.

Life is beautiful in contact with these beings who know by their philosophy how to remind us of the true way of living, the art of living.

At sea to the Leeward Islands, the Austral Islands, and the Marquesas Islands,

Tuesday, November 5, 1946

I no longer dare to write, my heart is too full, I’m afraid that it will overflow without restraint about this country that I left just last night… about this country and about … Jeanine whom I left quite emotional on the dock. Jeanine, my dancer from the first day who became my friend, Jeanine with whom I filled days of crazy happiness, with whom I went for a walk on the beaches, in the mountains, took baths in the small fresh rivers, sung, danced entire nights, drove gently in a silent car following the seaside as the sun sinks into Moorea ... Jeanine, this very image of tenderness and sensitivity, who, with her instinctive intelligence, knows how to remind me of my faith from yesteryear, whose philosophy is that of our country and where God has a large part ... who tells me, an hour before the departure of the boat, when the usual miracle has not been accomplished and that I believe I will leave without film: «Think about it hard, do not doubt that you will find some, imagine that there is a pile of it on the table and I assure you that you will have some ...» and now that I am strong of mind, with my 15 rolls I found in the drawer… Jeanine, who rose by force to being a midwife, who by her love for life helps to be born dozens of children each day, who knows how to work miracles by her faith and her zest for life.

Tahiti, land of dreams that knows how to give birth to complete beings and nourish them with color and love, the only country in the world where war has not been able to penetrate, where the beggar does not exist, where the mixture of races is such that man is considered simply as a man, without the origin having the slightest role to play, where foundlings do not exist because a child represents life and here life is loved.

Tahiti, who supposedly is a coffin for us, because life is too easy and we let ourselves slip into it, forgetting to work, forgetting that creation is the basis of everything, Tahiti, of which the Europeans do not know how to use, a paradise where we are not ready to live ...

Tahiti ... I love you

Bora-Bora

Always this overwhelming nature, a high and pointed peak, and all around the beach of sand and coral ...

The moon is absolutely pure, and we roll under the glistening palms; the scents themselves are bathed in this pale, cold light. We ride until the rehearsal of tomorrow’s dances ... the drum resonates in the air like a human breath and, without light, just shaded by the moon, we see the pure hips of the «vahines» undulating.

I don’t want to go out, my heart has remained in Tahiti, and Bora Bora seems empty to me. I can’t wait to go back «home» to Papeete, to our little «fare». I am no longer master of my thoughts; the whole afternoon, I passed in front of the pick-up getting drunk on Bach: I needed the organ and only he could shake me.

Even last night, in the lunar twilight, it was Jeanine I saw dancing, it was no longer this girl from Bora Bora with a very black face with whom I had sung to a few moments earlier at the Commandant’s - the most beautiful girl of the island - yes, of course she is perfect, but certainly less beautiful than Jeanine ...

Just now, it’s the big party; the whole island will dance and sing for us. Tomorrow there will also be a party in Raiatea (another island nearby), but the big party for me will be on Saturday in Papeete, when I will rush to the dock to go to the “fare”!

In my head, the images and songs of these few days in Tahiti are constantly jostling and colliding, it gets tangled, and one memory calls out the other. I see us on the day of departure, wandering from store to store in search of film, taking an iced pineapple juice, looking for books, and then stopping in front of «Regain» which, for 15 Francs, I bought for her by explaining to her that Provence is still the country which is closest to hers … Besides, she loves poetry and often I have recognized in her way of describing the raw and colorful way of Giono. Then I remember that dream she told me one morning, where she saw us both on top of a big mountain; or I suddenly breathe in the scent of a flower that reminds me of the one she always has in her hair when we dance and sing along with the orchestra, like everyone else here. Then I hear her tell me about her childhood full of fantasy and sunshine, and tell me how difficult it is for a young girl from here to find a job or to learn a trade, how it is necessary to struggle, to find a reason to be social … This tall 21-year-old girl (she’s exactly my size) already has a lot more experience than many young women back home.

At times I pick up the guitar and practice strumming the strings the Tahitian way, as she learned with her long, thin, and agile fingers; I try to remember the words of some songs that she has taught me during these few days.

What a joke! I don’t think I laughed like this for a long time: the captain and the mate with wreaths and flower necklaces, dancing hupa-hupa ... After the ensemble dances and during, the girls in «more» (the famous dresses made of pandanus fibers) would come and pull us by the hand to dance with them ... and the poor sailors made desperate efforts to wiggle their bellies. For my part, Jeanine made me work enough to make me look good, but really, some were funny!

Fortunately, in this simple country there is no such thing as ridicule, and anyone who chooses to come and try will not be understood.

I’m already a real expert: I sing, I dance and I play the guitar like everyone else, and even, by dint of learning the words of the songs, I understand bits of conversation.

It is three o’clock in the morning, and we leave at 6 o’clock tomorrow for Raiatea… I am going to bed.

… My heart has remained in Tahiti, and Bora Bora seems empty to me.

«Sometimes I pick up the guitar and practice strumming the strings Tahitian style».

Raiatea

It’s raining, it’s been raining continuously since our arrival yesterday at noon. How sad this country is in the rain! It is unrecognizable. Everything turns gray, there is no longer the slightest relief, you would think you had shut an eye. The coconut palms look entirely out of place, the sea has become flat, lifeless, dull. On the beach and on the roads, the coconut crabs enter their hole, they rush across the road so as not to be run over by the car, and even if they don’t have time, they always find a quagmire to take shelter.

Here the rain has a color: it is a little bluish, and it is the only remaining color … It is sad, a special sadness, like an illness; we would like to go to bed and be pampered; I would drink a good hot toddy. I think the whole island is sick, there is no more sign of life, no more than a spec of wind, everything is in mourning for the sun.

Raiatea

I have just returned from a lunch at Morillot’s (the painter’s son). We were all invited, including the commander, to a Tahitian-style meal, that is to say on a mat, on the ground with banana leaves as a tablecloth, and while eating with our fingers: raw fish, huge sweet potatoes, pigs cooked in an oven of fragrant palms, and «vahine» dancing throughout the meal.

Of course, I danced, played guitar, and took full photos. I even got to take two of the prettiest girls topless, with just a flower necklace … a treat.

Tahiti… for a long time…,

We are Tuesday November 19th, 1946

We leave this evening at 5 pm for Bora Bora first and then the Austral Islands; we are returning to Tahiti on December 4th only.

I received Zou’s letter on October 12, when Raiatea returned. I rushed to read it like a madman, but already I realize how far I am from Paris life. And you, do you still understand me? Don’t my letters seem a little crazy to you? Why doesn’t little Zou believe me when I tell her that I have gained weight and that I am strong (I weigh 72 kilograms; I am sorry but there is no automatic scale in this country?) Why isn’t Lydia writing?

My loves, hold on tight, I think I’m going to get married, or more exactly, I’m sure. I am going to marry another «Tchoun,» for Jeanine is also called like that ... she never knew why either, but I confess that I was rather surprised when I saw a letterhead being addressed to her: «My little Tchoun ...»

I have to admit that I have a funny way of telling you such serious news, but when news is happy, you don’t know which end to take it. I finally found a girl like I always wanted. What is curious is that I had to come to Tahiti to meet the only girl who does not have the mentality of this country ... it looks like she managed to take from here only beauty and the arts. Another thing, which I don’t say out of diplomacy, but really think so, is that she’s like Zou! A lot of character traits, outbursts, reactions, revolts, and manual skill that re-immerse me in an atmosphere that I certainly needed a lot. I am already much sweeter; I am relearning how to please with small things, by simple thoughtfulness … Every day, I see how well she knows me, without illusions, but with a lot of love.

Many difficulties will arise. Neither of us have money, but I think we can do it, and after all, it’s a good way to improve myself. I believe we will be settling in a few months (when my tour of the Pacific is over). We are thinking of setting up a portrait workshop. I’m talking about all of these details because I know they are things you need to think about. Obviously, this is not about settling forever, but just a few months, just to get afloat. Since I have all the equipment, we just need to rent a bungalow and take out a license. Ah! I forgot ... her name is Jeanine Vidal, she adores her mother and from time to time calls me «brat» hoping to make me bitch like her brother ...

While I’m away, I think she will leave our «fare» to go live with her mother. We have not yet told anyone about our plans; there will always be time when I return from the Austral Islands. It’s 11 o’clock, I’m going to pick her up from the maternity ward.

See you later, my loves, when I’m at sea.

I am at sea. Tahiti, once again, has faded into the haze. I just listened to the three Monteverdi records that we miraculously found at a Chinese store earlier: we were going there to buy Tahitian records and by chance we stumbled across them, we were flabbergasted.

Bora-Bora,

Sunday, November 24, 1946

I am beginning to know this island well and also to love it. I spend my time spinning at crazy speeds in the canoe. These boats are wonderful. Imagine a long, extremely thin spindle (just enough to sit on) with a huge sail and, at 3 or 4 meters, the balance that looks like a very long ski. In front of the pendulum, there is wood perpendicular to the boat on which we move to act as a counterweight so that the pendulum only grazes the water. It’s wonderful, it feels like you’re flying. Below, we see the coral scrolling like a precious road that we would not be allowed to touch.

Of course, we stop from time to time on one of these thousands of small coral islets to have a good refreshment with coconut water that nature has reserved for us chilled; then we bathe, we enter the schools of fish, some to catch them with a harpoon, others to look at them. Then we set off again on another islet ... until the evening when the «zef» pushes us on board like a big bird.

Or we go hunting for wild goats (not me, of course, I don’t like hunting), and I take these walks to climb the mountain.

You have to fight with all your strength to get to move forward, the lianas persistently block your path, the rocks burst under your feet and descend the mountain, making an incredible passage through the trees. But what satisfaction when after hours of effort, the horizon clears up and the sea appears all around you, when you see a tiny boat lost in the coconut trees ... our house!

This country is incredible. I know I’m repeating myself, but my joy is still just as equal to the first time, and I have to shout it out, to tell the truth!

Arrived in Bora Bora, 1946

My littleTchoun...

In love

Bora Bora, motu Tapu, formerly covered with coconut palms.

It is on this island that the most beautiful «more» are made. I ordered a superb one for Jeanine. Her birthday falls on December 4th, just the day we get back ... it’s lucky. I think with dread that in Paris right now you must start to freeze, my poor loves! I see ahead of time the 18th, the little family reunion where I won’t be ... but I will be there a bit anyway, in thought.

I think more and more that I’m a little crazy, but why do we envy the crazy? Perhaps it is they who live the best? Tell me, do you mind that I continue this wandering life? That I marry a girl whom you know only by my letters? That I seem to be of no use to anyone? However, I believe that I am better, I am very loved by the beings with whom I have been living for several months already and continuously.

Bora Bora sailing canoes, «I spend my time spinning at crazy speeds in the canoe».

I work a lot, and often do repetitive work that looks suspiciously like a factory job. I even think that I will take stunning photos for you later (soon).

For some time now, I have been speaking to you from an open heart, as I had not done for a very long time. I believe that I have to be distant from a person, to understand our bond, and the love that unites us. For long months I was disgusted and miserable, but today I believe I am cured of the war. You could see the progress in my letters … Jeanine finished the job.

For a boy like me, there are only two solutions: either find a young woman with an established personality or a young girl to train. Here I have found a mix of the two, and a clever mix ... But one thing goes beyond everything: it is our immense love!

At sea,

Sunday December 1st, 1946

Another revelation: three extraordinary islands that are completely different from the others.

On the 28th, we were in Rurutu (pronounced rouroutou) and as the governor of Tahiti, Mr. Haumant, took advantage of La Grandière to tour his islands (he joined us in Bora Bora), I landed with him. This is the first boat to come here in five years, and the Americans have never been to the Austral Islands. I don’t know if you can imagine how important it is for a small country like this to receive a visit from a big ship and the governor!

The whole town was decked out, all the roads for several kilometers, bounded by large coconut leaves linked together with ribbons of braided flowers, the village square crammed with a clean, healthy, well-dressed, colorful population.

Everywhere there are banners proclaiming «Long live M. le Gouverneur, long live France, long live de Gaulle» (they are not quite aware, they only have a small radio set). When the whaling boat docked, there were all the large figures of the island on the quay: the chief, the pastor, the teacher, the nurse, the administrator ... and this is where we see that the French administration does some good things: all these people were natives. They speak French very well since they were educated in Papeete.

First, the school children sang «La Marseillaise» to us, then one of the little girls recited a flattering compliment to the governor. But suddenly, there was a sound, and the drunken crowd literally tore us away; we were almost carried. At the same time, a huge bass drum began to resound, and the howling procession began to move … There was the orchestra in front, then the flag bearer, and behind the whole village dancing. We walked through the village to the house of the chief, a tall fellow with white hair, with a strong and intelligent face. All along the road, we had to go into every house, we were kissed, and each time we would have two or three wreaths of flowers put around our necks, we could hardly breathe. All these little «fares» (houses) were exceptionally clean: light mats, large windows open to the air, multicolored curtains, small bright red or sky blue cushions on the bed, and everywhere In every one, furniture, small or even large objects made of woven pandanus (it’s pretty much like raffia, but stronger and purer); extremely fine-woven wallets, hats, trivets, fans, bedspreads, handbags, as well as huge mats that would have easily lined the largest room in the palace of the governor of Papeete … and in all this it was necessary to choose, all these wonders were gifts.

Behind us, there were porters who were loaded like donkeys!

When we arrived at the chief’s, a huge meal awaited us. On the table, the «taro» slices alone could remind us that we were with Tahitians (we are used to calling all the inhabitants of the islands Tahitians). Fish, chicken, pork; a real meal for «Popa’a» (that’s what we are called here). After lunch, more presents, then dances and «himene» (songs, the name probably comes from an hymn) until the evening. The captain, according to the traditions, had opened the boat to the natives and we were able to see an unforgettable spectacle: the dancers on the bridge and all the sailors mixed with the Tahitians who stood atop the ammunition chests, the guns and the turrets, in the process of giving them rhythm by clapping their hands… I climbed to the top of the mast to photograph this strange spectacle.

The next day, we went to visit the other two villages on the island. We prepared horses (this animal is very much in the spotlight on the island where the car has not yet appeared), and we lef. The governor, Gouelle, three officers on board, and me. They had prepared the mounts for us with banana leaves (there is no saddle here), and we rode all day through very high passes, valleys, we followed rivers galloping like mad; the horses were very fiery: and even on the mountain paths, we took them at a gallop!

The landscapes were different from Tahiti, much cooler, still, and at times, at the top of the mountains, they became grandiose: quite like the kind you would find inTexas, and we ourselves, riding in this pampas, looked like cowboys.

In the other villages, especially the last one, our galloping triumphant entry really looked great. We towered over this human sea which gripped our legs with such force that we had to descend … which was our doom … really suffocating; no way to get out of the way to take a picture, I had a dozen girls clinging to wherever there was a shot ...

All had their little French flag and, in front, the music completely deafened us: quite like a heroic fair!

At nightfall, we crossed the passes again, still galloping like mad, to be received downstairs by the eternal traditional dances. We were still stuffed with gifts. I did the whole descent with the chief’s daughter, a beautiful girl who is a teacher in the last village. I tried talking with her, but her lack of fluency inFrench was slowing the conversation terribly. We limited ourselves to pushing our horses to outrun the others and triumph in an unspoken race. The horses were sweaty, they were so excited that we could hardly contain them, and I assure you that the riding of such animals, without saddles and without stirrups, by «Popa’a», amazed the people.

On the 30th, we disembarked in Tubuai (we always pronounce the “u”, “or”). To almost the same reception, always the horse as a means of transport, always generous meals, always gifts ...

And this morning: Raivavae, the last island of our tour. We had been warned that it was the wildest in the archipelago. We were not disappointed. Definitely, I love natives. This is where I found the friendliest locals. They received us simply, quietly, without speech but with a lot of heart. Before we left, we insisted that they sing us one of their songs: they stood in a circle, sat on the ground, and started.

Tubuai, a horse-drawn carriage, a means of transport for dignitaries.

Rurutu, horses are very much in the spotlight on the island.

This is where we heard the purest Polynesian songs; it reminded me of my evening in Houaïlou in New Caledonia. I was also moved, and their songs were very similar.

I have to get back this way, I have to record these wonders, and I even think the governor agrees ... Maybe I will? Yes, it’s certain.

The day after tomorrow, we stop in Moorea, and at 5 o’clock we dock in … Papeete … I already have trouble holding myself; my thoughts revolve around Jeanine all the time: What is she doing? Where is she? Does she know that we are arriving on the 3rd and not the 4th as planned? And did the mail arrive? Will I finally have some fresh news?

My loves, I leave you. Tomorrow I will take advantage of our time at sea to develop all my work in the Austral Islands. See you soon in Papeete.

Papeete,

Tuesday, December 10, 1946

I am on the veranda, it is very mild, the sun is shining with all its force. A small, light and unruffled wind sneaks through the «fare,» bringing with it the ideal freshness. Jeanine is seated in an armchair: she is making a dress; we are both barefoot and in «sarongs» ... It’s a dream life. It is 8 am, the birds are singing … I am very happy.

On arriving, I received Lydie’s letter of August 17, as well as one from Georges from the same period. Although a little old, Lydie’s prose gave me great pleasure, it was a wonderfully comprehensive letter; I hope she won’t be too disappointed that my trip to Tibet is postponed a bit.

Since arriving in Papeete, I haven’t had a day of my own. Every morning I arrive at the boat, lock myself in the lab, and work until the evening. I shoot hundreds of photos, and that’s what keeps me going.

The governor asked me, while on tour, if I wanted to stay here. He wants me to create a press and information service that Tahiti lacks. Why not?

The better it goes, the more I realize how happy I am to have met Jeanine. The union is perfect. I would like to ask you to send me a birth certificate. We would like to get married soon.

My loves, I am really happier than ever. I think a lot about you.

I’ll leave you, the letter is going out shortly. I can’t wait to read yours, love you, see you soon, and long live little Zou!

Friendship to all, I send you all the biggest embrace.

Your son

P.S. Can you send the birth certificate to: Jeanine Vidal - Papeete - Tahiti.

The encounter…

Happiness

Jeanine tells about her early childhood

«In Tahiti where water gushes purer than diamonds love and beauty covers the vastness and when in the evening the star threw its gold into the firmament the sound of the wind dies while moving no place really is so charming, so beautiful and has like it, this ever new spring it was there, I believe the delicious paradise where old father Adam was born from the love of God you who cry and moan slaves of misfortune come to Tahiti, in my sweet paradise you will eat and drink without difficulty and without toil in hamlets or at the edge of streams.”

It was mom’s favorite song.

She hummed it often, accompanying it to the soft purr of her sewing machine, punctuating it with her pedal strokes. I listened to her religiously.

She had near her, her book of Tahitian and French songs, in which her beautiful, loose writing blended harmoniously with pretty drawings. It was her most precious possession, which she allowed us to leaf through when we were good.

My mother, known as Pinkey, was the oldest of six children: five girls and a boy.

She was the daughter of Theodor Yalmar Handerson, a Norwegian sailor who arrived in Tahiti on a whaling ship. Our Norwegian grandfather, who died after the birth of his last granddaughter, we knew him only by the large portrait that sat in the living room of our grandmother Eva, who was called Mama Tu.

Eva Tuariitemaraeroa was descended through her mother from the Tuariitemaraeroa royal family of Raiatea.

She did not speak French, being English through her father, which explains the multitude of clear blue or green eyes that we find in our family.

Eyes that have always made me dream, but which have missed me, I am the only brunette with Polynesian features in the family.

After the disappearance of my grandfather, according to Tahitian custom, all his children had adoptive parents. My mother was raised by the Millaud family.

Thus, we had several families and, as is common in Tahiti and for our greatest happiness, we lived in several houses.

We also had several nicknames. One of my uncles called me Tokyo and sang to me «In Yokohama, pretty mousme ...» He thought I looked like a Japanese girl with my slanted eyes and my tuft of hair on the top of my head.

My aunt Mimi sang to me in English «Jeanine, Jeanine, of little time ...».

My grandmother was fond of cushions. Everywhere she could fit one, under her head, under her arms ... I inherited this «disease», and in my house they are all over the place.

Very young, my mother married Paul Vidal, a Tahitian with French blood. He was one of the survivors of the «Great War» of 14-18, one of those known as the «Poilus Tahitiens».

A rigid and severe man, my father worked at the Banque d’Indochine where his thoroughness and his artistic sense were greatly appreciated.

In the evening, he took us for a walk on the quai de Papeete, where we admired the pretty schooners, boats serving the islands. Their evocative names made us dream.

On «La Mouette», its captain was our uncle, Louis Carlson. Later, this schooner was replaced by the “Tamara” then the “Zélée”, which became an administrative schooner. Quite often we would get on board. I remember having witnessed the placing of the markers in the lagoon of Punaauia.

At that time, the road network was limited, and cars were rare. The boat trips allowed us to discover the tour of the island by sea. We took the opportunity to swim as soon as there was a sandy shoal.

Unlike administrative ships, private shipowners’ schooners traveled a lot. They were the only means of communication between the islands and Tahiti. Each of their arrivals to the islands was an event. Each had its circuit.

The «L’Oiseau des îles» liaised with Makatea, where the main activity was phosphate mining. The «Tagua» was specialized in supplying the Tuamotu and regularly returned to Tahiti heavily laden with copra. The «Hiro» served the Leeward Islands: when it arrived in Huahine, Raiatea, and Bora Bora, the inhabitants invaded it to find parents, friends, and talk about Tahiti, unknown to most of them.

Young women were looking for adventure with some handsome, fair-skinned sailors.

It was also the occasion to drink beer, real Tahitian ale. They were not yet found on the islands. The only alcoholic drink, «pia hamani», was homemade, made from coconut palm sap. Dangerous and forbidden, this «beer» was to be made and consumed in secret, without the knowledge of the gendarme charged with enforcing the law on the island. Onboard, there were hardly any tourists, if not a few curious from time to time.

In Tahiti, the airport does not yet exist; the arrival and departure of large ships, such as the «Sagittaire» or the «Ville d’Amiens», were the main event. The port of Papeete was swarming with people. We came as a family to welcome the parents who were returning home. A crowd of curious people in search of novelties came to enjoy the show. They wanted to be the first to see newcomers disembarking.

One of the greatest moments of these ocean liner arrivals was the return from the “City of Amiens” on May 5, 1946. It was the return of the volunteers of the “Pacific Battalion”, which had distinguished itself on the battlefields of the Second World War.

In addition to passengers, these liners brought mail, construction materials, and rare commodities sought after by traders.

The Chinese were the kings of commerce. The small town of Papeete and the tour of the island were crisscrossed by their wooden shops full of goods, a stall of odds and ends. There were all kinds of things there, crockery, linen, hardware, and of course, food. We even went «to the Chinese» to get boiling water for morning coffee.

We liked them, our Chinese, while making fun of them, their modest, gray life, in our eyes without gaiety, but we could not do without their services. And casually, they were making a fortune.

Chinese traders even had their banker, Chin Foo, who set up his own bank.

As for the Europeans, we did not know them, they lived apart, they did not mix with the Tahitians, with a few exceptions. Such as Alain Gerbault, who was considered an outlier.

Our only encounters with the «Popa’a» were those imposed by administrative procedures or medical consultations and of course, religious ceremonies.

On Sundays, everyone gathered at church or temple. We listened to the gospel, the sermon, and we all sang together. Mass was said in French, except at the Protestant temple where the hymns were in Tahitian.

Everyone was dressed in white, the men in black pants, mostly barefoot. Leaving the office was one of the highlights of the week, the opportunity to meet family and friends. We exchanged the gossip of the moment, and took news of each other’s health.

At the time, Papeete was a very small town, made up mainly of colonial houses, shops or small wooden buildings, grouped around the cathedral and the market. These were the only solid structures in the city center along with the Donald Building, the Fare Tony and the Paofai Temple.

The Paofai temple, a Mecca of the Protestant religion, was located on the seaside, towards Faa’a, opposite Cigogne beach. This is where the city ended. This is also where lovers met in the evening to admire the sunset over Moorea.

On the mountain side was the governor’s palace, now the residence of the High Commissioner of the Republic. This large two-story colonial house stood next to another, the Queen’s Palace, which had become the Territorial Assembly. At the back, between the two historic buildings, you could cool off in the «queen’s bath». This natural spring, which flows through a magnificent garden. It is the origin of the appellation of Papeete.

Coco Hotahota, on the occasion of a performance given in homage to Queen Pomare IV, was able to bring back to life this fabulous era of Tahiti of yesteryear.

By the sea was the very pretty post office building, next to Princess Tekau’s house, which still stands.

A few small hotels were also located in town, including the Stuart, by the sea, the Diadème, behind the Fare Tony. Closer to our house, to the east, was the Hotel Tiare, created by Lovaina Gooding, like us from the Chapman family. It was the favorite hotel of our illustrious visitors. In particular, the famous writer Somerset Maugham, who devoted to Lovaina a chapter of the novel he set in Polynesia, «The moon and six pence (L’Envoûté)», retracing life by Gauguin.

In the evening, we would go to the port to admire the sunset over Moorea with in the foreground the islet «Motu Uta», now disappeared, swallowed by the embankments of Motu Uta which we call «Fare Ute».

We were happy to go to the sea because we lived in the Mission Valley next to the Bishop’s Palace, not far from downtown Papeete.

Our beautiful colonial-style house was surrounded by greenery, on one side the beautiful vegetable garden that my father maintained and on the other the many rose bushes of my mother, who adored roses.

Very young, 22 years old, my mother married Paul Vidal, son of Jean-Baptiste Vidal, himself, son of Antoine Vidal (1818-1880) from Honor-de-Cos, a village in the town of Tarn-et -Garonne located in the south of France. A military gunner, Antoine Vidal was one of the first twenty French settlers sent to Oceania by the administration of Louis Philippe. He arrived in the Marquesas Islands archipelago on June 4, 1842 aboard the Corvette Triomphante. He spent 16 months in Nuku Hiva with his unit under the command of BRUAT; the secret objective of this mission was the installation of a prison. Then BRUAT acceding to Petit-Thouars’ request, decides to transfer the 500 soldiers under his orders to Tahiti, including Antoine Vidal; they arrived in Tahiti on November 4, 1843. He was demobilized from his unit in 1847 and went to settle in the district of Teahupoo,

From his union with Tairau A Pihaava are born: Victoire who marries Alexis Alexandre - Marie who marries Jean Aubry - Jean-Baptiste, my great-grandfather.

Jean-Baptiste Vidal (1862-1918) was born on March 5 in Papeete. He had a brilliant career in local government. Is Head of the general secretariat of the colony then appointed director of customs in Papeete. He is part of the board of directors of the Oceania Phosphate Company. Was appointed an Academy officer. He died on December 6, 1918 in Makatea. From his union with Teehurai Guifford (1856-1918) they will have 7 children including Paul, my dad.

Paul Vidal (1892-1965), bank employee, is a veteran quoted in 1918. He is one of the «survivors» of the «Great War», one of those called the «Hairy Tahitians». From her union with Théodora Hélène Teraitumatura Handerson on February 16, 1921 in Atuona were born five children, Clet born June 6, 1921 in Atuana, Louise born in Atuona on June 20, 1923, Jeanine born in Papeete on December 4, 1924, Noël Jean-Baptiste born in Papeete on December 24, 1927, Hector Eric Léon born in Papeete on April 23, 1933. Mum, whom we used to call mama, is the daughter of Peter Handerson (1851-1916) born in the town of Langerton in Norway. He arrived in Tahiti in 1896 as a second aboard a four-master, then took command of several schooners that sailed all the islands of Polynesia. From his union with Eva Johnston (1873-1970) four children were born. Stéphane worked as a radio in the navy, Théodora, my mother, Louise who married Louis Carlson, and Me Aubert.

On my father’s side, we are related with the Alexandre, Aubry, Guifford, Brothers, Millet, Caillat families, and on my mother’s side with the Carlson, Handerson, Johnston, Aubert, Snow families, and many others again.

Holidays in Punaauia

We also had a very beautiful traditional house about twenty kilometers on the west coast of Tahiti, in the town of Punaauia. It was called «The Villa of the Sirens». Its large oval living room with woven bamboo walls opened up to numerous windows that tilt outwards. They were held up with a stick (tito’o).

The roof covered with pandanus also housed a large semi-circular terrace, living room during the day, which became a large dormitory in the evening ... Where a dozen, cousins, brothers, sisters, and friends, all come to spend our vacation.

We spent most of the day swimming in the beautiful lagoon of Punaauia, where we all knew the coral patties. Each had his own, which almost became his property.

We didn’t have any masks or snorkels yet, but that didn’t prevent us from diving and plugging our noses to pull up giant clams.

At low tide, we would go to the reef to collect the «ma’oa», a sort of big winkle.

Near our house lived Alain Gerbault and Aurora Natua, a wonderful woman who told us about Tahiti in the past.

Alain Gerbault was a thin, lean man, always wearing a sarong, which was frowned upon. We were afraid of him, despite his fabulous stories.

Some evenings our parents had mysterious meetings. You could hardly hear them whispering. They stood at the famous three-legged pedestal table which hypnotized us during the day and frightened us at night.

We heard «Spirit are you there? And the table answered with muffled thumps. Three, four, six, that was his language ... Terrorized by these evenings heavy with mystery, we found our salvation in running off, preferring to go and play on the white sand beach.

On this beach, with my cousins and friends, every month we watched at nightfall for the golden thread of the very first moon. The thin crescent of gold seemed like a promise to us. We waited anxiously, hearts already beating in love for some stranger. A stranger who to me, already existed on the other side of my heart.

With all the ardor of our thirteen years, we recited this poem learned in the school of dreams:

«Crescent,

«My beautiful crescent,

«Let me see while dreaming

«The man that I will have in my lifetime»

As the dark night set in, we were called back to reality by our mom. She had prepared dinner for us and put it to lay on the large veranda.

My mom was a sweetheart, and we couldn’t imagine how much went into taking on this big family. We helped her as we could. Our biggest «chore» was going to the side of the road to find the basket full of groceries from the market, which our father sent us by the «truck». Don’t forget to put a coconut leaf on the road; it told the driver to stop.

Contrasting this happy vacation life on the shores of the Punaauia lagoon, was life with my father, between school, homework and the temple, it seemed very strict to me. Too strict!

I went to live with my grandmother, and I followed my cousins to the Catholic school of the Sisters of Saint-Joseph de Cluny.

There I discovered the beauty of church songs.

I really liked the principal, Mother Catherine. I was baptized when I was 13. I had discovered faith and believed I was an angel. I will always remember an essay that Mother Catherine asked us to write: «Describe a province of France». I chose Alsace, but above all I described the beautiful Alsatians, with blue eyes ... which earned me a beautiful zero. Mother Catherine kept this writing for a long time and one day gave it to Sylvain, very moved by this coincidence. Sylvain’s mother, Jeanne Killian, is a Parisian of Alsatian origin ...

My life has completely changed, my angel arrived from elsewhere, from afar, unexpected and expected all at once.

In early 1947, we finally received the long-awaited birth certificate. On March 18, the mayor of Faa’a, my uncle Aubry, married us. My grandmother adored my lover, she gave us a marriage name, according to custom, “Marama Tane and Marama Vahine”, which means man and woman of light. Austere times, austere family ... The wedding meal surprises me with its rigidity. All of them seated in a circle, as in the pantry, we sip lemonade. We will catch up later!

March 18, 1948, the mayor of Faa’a, my uncle Aubry, married us. From left to right : Tavana Ernest-Adolphe Fanomaimua Aubry, son of Jean-Louis Aubry (1842-1876) and Toretehaamarama Marie Vidal (1855-1918) - Henry Demay - Sylvain - Jeanine - Tante Ninette.

My grandmother gives us as a marriage name, according to custom, “Marama Tane and Marama Vahine” which means man and woman of light.

Moea, Vaea, Teva and Hina

Sylvain was hoping for a boy, her third baby is a pretty, smiling little girl who is moved to see her dad.

Jeanine carries in her arms her first baby, Moea ...

... and Sylvain, carries his daughter Moea high above him, like his new trophy.

Teva in his daddy’s arms, a bond that begins ...

Vaea, Moea, Jeanine, Teva, Hina, and Cathy

on the Taaone beach in Pirae in 1959

Vaea, Moea, Jeanine, Teva, Hina, and Cathy

on the Taaone beach in Pirae in 1959

Punaauia pk 8,1, the pontoon on the edge of the Taapuna lagoon, Maïma the darling child and the whole family

Taaone lagoon, the joy of living by the water.

Huahine, the bohemian life

Moea and her mom

Vaima and her mother, both very tender ...

Big house party for Teva’s 4th birthday

Moea and her daddy

The 4 children at Pirae Taaone beach

Pirae, the carefree family happiness

Sylvain in a sarong ‘’pareo’’ with his feet in the water, watches his little sweetheart’s first steps

The beautiful Moea

1974, the whole family reunited on Teva’s sailing canoe

Teva the little Prince

Moea flies to Paris where she will continue her graduate studies

CHAPTER VI

Sylvain’s artistic work in Tahiti

1950, the heyday

Philippe Mazellier interviews Sylvain for the Polynesian memorial.

The Tahiti of the 1950s is marked by the «Kon Tiki» report which has just been broadcast around the world. Sylvain then delicately enters the pantheon of celebrities who have marked the history of Tahiti, the Tahiti of gaiety and joie de vivre.

In 1950, Sylvain was also the father of two adorable little girls, Moea and Vaea. He now knows that he must fully assume his role as a father, which is why he decides to open a store that has a storefront in Papeete on the seafront. This store, which he calls «Photo Service», is located between the René Pailloux store and the Vaihiria restaurant bar in Roti Bambridge. At “Photo Service” you can find not only film and cameras, but also equipment to develop black and white and color films ...

Sylvain, in this small wooden shop, thus succeeds Abel, painter and mother-of-pearl engraver, of German origin: «one can say that I was lucky» - declares Sylvain – to have this location, that graced Roti Bambridge, and is on Papeete’s «waterfront» where all the major stores were: Mamita Curios, Farnham Import, René Pailloux, Vaihiria, Preston Moore Insurance, Maritime Messages, and the Donald store.

So that when I work at Radio Tahiti or when I am reporting, I entrust the store to Tetua Rosenblatt, Lucie Timau, and Miriama Marutoa, who will remain at “Photo Service” for fifteen years, and to Loulouse Timiona and the famous Poheroa.

Both ensure the development of the films and the printing of the photos. I will be the first in Tahiti to develop color films using an American process, and most passing filmmakers - there will be many between 1950 and 1960 – will give me their reels to develop. In 1950, apart from “Photo Service’’, there were two stores which developed film and made studio portraits, in the Harcourt, Mackenzie and Maxime Bopp du Pont style, while an old Chinese man, “Sounam”, held a shop, «Sounam Store», and that Valenta, a talented Czech, does portraits at home.”

“In those years, I followed life in Tahiti and the islands from day to day. I photograph everything: as a photographer for films shot in Tahiti, or as an official photographer during administrative schooner tours, and even just portraits … Nearly all the families of Tahiti parade in front of my lens, and I try to innovate the portrait technique, seeking more to restore life than to flatter the subject ... «

1950 was a hectic year since, in addition to the creation of «Photo Service», I was commissioned by the town planner Robert Auzelle to photograph the working-class neighborhoods of Papeete - in order to illustrate his report on housing conditions in Tahiti, and the places where he thinks the airport, a highway, and new port facilities will be built. I remember one day when Robert Auzelle, very excited, came to my house shouting, «This is it, I found the location for the runway». And here we are aboard the “Vini”, the flying club’s piper-seaplane, flying over Faa’a, Robert Auzelle at my side, making me photograph the lagoon from the wing of a plane … Photos on which we will draw the runway and which will be used by Louis Castex to impose on those responsible for the Tahiti-Faa’a land project.

At the time, I still operate in 6X6, with Rolleiflexes and, if the filmmakers and the official services call on me, I also work with scientists like G. Ranson with whom I spend six months in Hikueru, to photograph everything related to his research on mother-of-pearl and to film, in color, living plankton ... Then, from the 1950s, many stamps and several banknotes were produced from my photos, and I continue to make portraits, photographing scenes of everyday life in Tahiti (dance groups, nudes of vahine, work of artisans ...) I try to continue to report of international interest, such as the visit of General de Gaulle in 1956 (where Jeanine succeeded in crowning the General, who refused to keep flowers around his neck, taking advantage of the Marseillaise which had frozen him to attention: thus, I was able to take the only photos of de Gaulle crowned, according to Tahitian custom, a few minutes before his departure …).

As for the personalities who paraded in Tahiti between 1950 and 1960, writers, filmmakers, actors, politicians, there will not be one who will escape my lens ...

Sylvain

Sylvain on the phone in his photographer’s studio.

FAA’A International Airport

Robert Auzelle, urban planning architect, professor at the Institute of Urbanism at the University of Paris, is responsible for carrying out the master plan for the development of Papeete. In June 1951, he published a book, «La vie Urbaine» in which we find the Papeete section. He was responsible for the idea of building the Faa’a Airport on the coral reef east of the town of Faa’a. He identified this location with a photograph of Sylvain on which he drew the location of the runway of the future Faa’a international airport.

Aerial view of the lagoon, from the tip of the Tropics to the tip of Faa’a with the motu Tahiri where the hydrobase is located. Subsequently, a runway can be made by embankment on the coral.

FAA’A International Airport

Faa’a, the Tahiri motu before the construction of Tahiti Faa’a International Airport.

Faa’a 1960, aerial view of Tahiti-Faa’a airport under construction

Tahiti seen by Sylvain
A dream, an art of living...
Interview by Robert MONSTERLEET - October 8, 1976

An exceptional witness to the “Kon Tiki” raft

The end of the «Kon Tiki» adventure had an exceptional witness, Adolphe Sylvain.

A year after settling in Tahiti, the governor informed him that a schooner would meet these crazy «Kon Tiki» sailors that the world was finally starting to talk about. This is how Adolphe Sylvain embarked aboard the «Tamara» commanded by Captain Teai Temarii a Teai to set sail for Raroia, where he had the privilege of being the only photographer to immortalize the end of this historic expedition.

August 16, 1947, at 5 p.m.

The «Tamara» having on board Mr. Ahnne, administrator of the Tuamotu, left Papeete and pointed to Raroia with the mission of bringing back the crew of the «Kon Tiki» inadvertently stranded on the reef.

August 19, 1947 at noon, the land appeared in the distance, and in a short time, we were able to distinguish something curious … Everyone hoisted themselves as high as possible … Yes, that’s right, we can clearly see two masts, then a completely leaning schooner. We are stunned, we come to the rescue of a raft, and we find the «Maoae» stranded in the pass ... It’s bad luck!

All afternoon the «Tamara» will try to tow the poor schooner, and it will not be until the next morning that we can finally reach our six heroes.

Six small beds

We surprised the crew of the «Kon Tiki» who were having breakfast in one of the prettiest “fares” in the village; a table, six chairs, dairy products, jam, fruit, sun, and a crowd of spectators. The whole village is around them, the men, women, children, and the elderly, all doing their utmost to please them ... One fine day, they saw pieces of wood and tin cans arrive on the beach. They immediately sped off in the canoe and found six tall blond fellows at the other end of the lagoon trying to drag an ancient raft. We must admit that the adventure was curious, to say the least, and that our Paumotu had the right to be surprised. Anyway, they returned to the village, triumphantly carrying our Norwegians who were, on the spot, installed in the common house.

Everyone had brought something, and soon after, we could see six small beds lined up next to each other with beautiful pillows with multicolored embroidery, the Norwegian and Swedish flags hanging on the wall. The crates of tin cans in piles in a corner and the science equipment lined up on the table, next to the radio.

When Mr. Ahnne arrived, they froze in spotless attention and reported their identities:

The Chef: Thor Heyerdahl

The second: Herman Watsinger, Erick Hesselberg, Knut Haughland, Torstein Raaby, Bengt Danielsson.

Then the “Tamara’’ set off again to fetch the raft, taking with her Herman Watsinger and some Paumotu to help us transport the equipment and moor the “Kon Tiki”.

1947, The Kon Tiki and its crew

Thor Heyerdahl

Towing the Kon Tiki

The raft was quietly stranded on the sand; the mast and the equipment were on the beach stowed under a tent. We were afraid we would not be able to get the raft out of its bad position because it seemed so heavy; but four men were more than enough to tug it out of there … We didn’t realize how light balsa can be!

The grounding of the «Kon Tiki»

When, on August 7, the «Kon Tiki» came up against the reef and finally ran aground on the island of «Kon Tiki» (this is how the Paumotu called the islet in question), the radio did not stop. They continued to correspond with Rarotonga. First, it transmitted: «We are 500 meters from the reef», then «We are 50 meters ...» and finally «If we do not give a sign of life before 36 hours, send help ... Goodbye ...»

A few seconds later, the raft was shaken in all its timbers and threw itself upon everything that protruded the surface of the reef ...

It was not until 36 hours and 5 minutes after the accident that the radio could finally reconnect with Rarotonga and report that all were safe and sound, although in reality a little scratched, and that they were well installed on a small deserted island. Only five days later the people of Raroia noticed their presence.

Towing the raft

After a thousand complications to tow the raft behind the “Tamara”, on the morning of August 22, we left Raroia under the cheers of the crowd … The farewells were endless. All, one by one, wanted to touch their hand, all wanted to express their joy at having received them on their modest little land.

Finally chants erupted from all sides, and as the longboat moved away to join the «Tamara», one could see, on the landing stage, a multicolored crowd gathered around the flagpole and saying their last farewells.

The trip was going well enough when, suddenly, on August 25, the wind suddenly picked up, bringing with it huge masses of water that threatened to separate us forever from the valiant «Kon Tiki». Already several times, the towing ropes had snapped, and we risked not being able to repair them in this weather. We had to stop the engine and wait all night and the next day to start again. On the other hand, this storm allowed us to see how well this boat handled the sea ... As we rolled from one side of the «Tamara» to the other, the raft remained unperturbed and was not even wet. Then we saw, on the morning of Thursday 28, how delighted Tahiti was to be able to welcome and congratulate the six glorious «sea explorers»; They not only demonstrated their theory, but also demonstrated remarkable courage and skill.

Long live «Kon Tiki», Norway and Sweden, and we hope that our unexpected visitors will have a good stay on the island.

A. Sylvain

Dale Bell, well known for his historical documentaries broadcast on «National Geographic,» a producer of the film WOODSTOCK, is a friend of the mythical couple Jeanine and Sylvain. He tells us in a very affectionate way how they got to know each other, the bonds of friendship they forged together and especially how both shared this thirst for knowledge on the technique of navigation used by the first Polynesians when ‘they conquered the islands of the Polynesian triangle.

Sylvain, his wife Jeanine,

Thor Heyerdahl’s Kon Tiki

Voyage of the Hokule’a, and her arrival in Papeete Tahiti on June 5, 1976

A STORY ABOUT A MIRACLE..

It’s spring 1976. I’m on Molokai, one of the Hawaiian islands, in a bustling shopping mall down near the ocean. A store with Hawaiian clothes for men and women, Tahitian pareo skirts for women, jewelry, and small Hawaiian canoe models beckons to me. I’ve been doing nothing but filming, day after day, intensely. A ukulele tune draws me closer. I’ve got an hour hiatus before I have to rejoin my 3-man film crew from the PBS station, WQED, in Pittsburgh, new home of the National Geographic Specials. I’ve given them a chance to get away from me, the producer, and hang together by themselves for a minute. We need a break apart. I’ve got to make a decision.

The music---always it is the music---lures me in and for a moment I get lost in the aisles of brightly patterned Hawaiian clothes. But then a sound I know well reaches my ears. It is the French language being spoken excitedly by a male and female who I cannot see.

I quickly tell by the accent that the male is speaking pure French, the woman has a more guttural sound. Hmmm…I am more curious. I cannot see them yet but as I push aside some racks of clothing, they come into view. From a distance, the woman is preparing to wrap her body---long and lanky---in what appears to be a bolt of colorful Hawaiian fabric… a pareo. The man---it must be her husband---I HOPE it is her husband--- takes the roll of fabric from her and actively, rhythmically, swirls the bright patterns around her shoulders, her upper body, her torso, her hips, and then her legs, almost dancing to the music, until she is fully wrapped to his satisfaction. Helpless. They are alone with each other. They don’t see me yet, but I see them. Their hands are on each other, alone. They are both older than I. Their eyes flash. They speak with excitement and anticipation. I expect---I hope--- they are lovers, transplanted from…where?? Otherwise, what a waste! I’ve got to know!

Just as the man completes his dance and steps back to admire his draping handiwork, untangling himself from an embrace with the woman, I push aside a rack of shirts and introduce myself in my very best French. Startled, they pull apart quickly, their playtime interrupted.

The man, mustached, extends his hand in typical French style. He is “Sylvain.” No first name. His shoulders carry camera straps and a camera bag. The woman, unwrapping herself from the pareo, introduces herself: “Je suis Jeanine.”

A bit embarrassed, blushing, her skin swarthy, her smile wide, her hair trailing behind her, she is simply stunning. Polynesian, I assume, is the origin of her accent. I give my name: Dale Bell, and to disarm them from my voyeurism among the pareos I add in French that sometimes people call me “Monsieur Le Cloche” for “Mr. Bell.” My little joke is useful in cracking the ice. We laugh together.

Sylvain comments on my good French accent. Gone is the English; I realize that it is all French from now on. Where did I learn my French, and why? He inquires. Knowing I am in the Pacific Ocean made famous in 1947 by KON-TIKI, I joked that it was Thor Heyerdahl who made me learn languages. I had read his book when I was a boy in New York on the Hudson River, and from that moment on, I modeled myself and my life after him. I read works about early civilizations, I wanted to become a documentarian as he was, I wanted to be a citizen of the world with multiple languages, and I wanted to explore, be an adventurer. Thor was my idol.

Sylvain embraced Jeanine in disbelief, then turned to me, a camera in hand, to describe how, as a photographer landing in Tahiti after World War II, he had been fortunate enough to photograph the KON TIKI crew after it had landed in Tahiti. Had I seen his photo pictures of the six men arriving in Papeete, in LIFE magazine? I thought. I know I had heard, on short wave radio in the summer of 1947 at camp, a crackling transmission from the raft in the middle of the Pacific. Sylvain, Jeanine and I were overwhelmed with the extraordinary coincidences of life. How was it possible that we had met here in this store?

I asked him about his cameras…why was he here in Molokai? He and Jeannine explained---they lived in Tahiti and Paris. They came up to Hawaii because a Tahitian paddling team was going to compete, for the first time, against Hawaiians in the annual 50-mile canoe race from Molokai to Oahu. Sylvain was going to film it, to the extent he was able to. What was I doing here? they asked.

I explained that I was producing a film ---a National Geographic Special for PBS---to tell the story of how ancient Polynesians were able to navigate their voyaging canoes from one island to another without instruments. The Polynesian Voyaging Society had built a replica canoe 70 feet long---called her HOKULE’A---and she was now sailing inter-islands, training the crew, while providing inspiration to the Hawaiian people who had never seen or experienced anything like this before. She was a symbol for human and civil rights.

In fact, I added, HOKULE’A was created to pro-actively dispute the KON TIKI experiment of Thor in 1947. HOKU was built and launched in 1975 to directly contradict Thor’s drift theory of Pacific migration that one leader of the Bishop Museum referred to as “poppycock.”

I looked at my watch. I had to decide, then and there in this shop, whether I was going to try to film some of the HOKULE’A crew members who would be competing in the Molokai race…and I had to return to my own film crew who would be outside momentarily.

I talked and laughed with Jeanine and Sylvain for a moment. They suggested dinner together. Did I like Blanc Foussy? A bubbly white wine? I said yes! Never having heard of it, we made a rendez-vous.

Later, we met to open the first of what would be many bottles of Blanc Foussy over our lives together. It was our “code name” for the rest of our many get-togethers in Los Angeles and Paris. They told me how they met, fell in love some 30 years earlier, and were now living within sight of Moorea in Tahiti with their children. They also had a home in Paris on the Seine... a barge.

I told them how I had worked my way to Europe in 1957 on a Norwegian freighter because I really wanted to meet Thor in Oslo that summer at the KON TIKI Museum. The freighter needed repairs, never made it to Oslo, so I had to take my motorcycle off her in Bremen, then ride down to Paris and the south of France, working my way from place to place. I spent a lot of time in Saint-Paul en Vence at the restaurant Le Colombe d’Or, washing dishes among the paintings and sculptures of Kleber, Picasso, and Sandy Calder.

No wonder I spoke such good French, Jeanine said. I told them that I was a producer of the movie, WOODSTOCK. They gasped. Really? They had seen it in Paris when it first came out. Translated into French! I also told them that I had worked with Martin Scorsese on MEAN STREETS and with the French director Francois Reichenbach. We bonded immediately.

I waxed that I thought the movie, WOODSTOCK, might never have been made had I not tried to model my life on Thor. Then the conversation shifted back to cameras, filming, and the possibility that we could meet up again---when HOKULE’A arrived in Tahiti in several months. When? I did not know but I could call them when I did know.

Could you, I asked Sylvain, film their arrival in Papeete? After all, if he had shot photos of the arrival of Thor and his 5-man crew of the KON TIKI in August of 1947, he could certainly complete the circle and film the arrival of HOKU sometime in May or June? What irony! By helicopter? Sylvain asked. Yes, I said! My 3-camera crew will film from boats at water level.

I inquired as to the kinds of cameras he might use. He said he would do some stills with his Rollei, and some movies with his Bolex. Could he make the arrangements for a chopper? Yes, he could if he had enough advance notice…We exchanged phone numbers and departed.

A month before HOKULE’A was set to leave Maui on her final leg to Tahiti, I jumped off her deck and onto a dock, breaking a tiny bone in my right foot. I required a cast for my foot, and needed crutches to navigate. I was never sure that it was a psycho-somatic injury. Did I not want to sail to Tahiti on a chase boat? To spend 30 days tossing and turning on the Pacific, getting seasick every day and night? I wanted to be brave, so I said I would go on the Meotai, the “chase boat” I had hired for me and the rest of the crew to use as a platform to film HOKULE’A at sea. The captain would not communicate with HOKU about any matters relating to her course.

Two days out of Maui on the Meotai, I asked if the Coast Guard could come and lift me off by helicopter, replacing me with someone else from my team. Yes, they could.

A day later, off Hilo, Hawaii, I was lifted off an inflatable boat dragged behind the Meotai. On board this chopper was my friend, Jan Anderson, the local cameraman from the NBC station in Honolulu. My broken foot enabled me to get on the evening news!

I flew back to LA and called Sylvain and Jeanine in Tahiti. I would not be sailing into Tahiti, I would be flying, I told them. I wanted to arrive several days in advance of when the HOKU arrived. I guesstimated about the end of May. They invited me to stay at their home looking out on Moorea, but I declined. I would be handling phones and conversations back and forth with the mainland and did not want to be bothering them. They recommended my hotel, set me up, and I was there.

Then, the day after my arrival in Tahiti, at their home on the beach, there was a lunch “requirement”. Before we could eat, we all had to strip down naked, go swimming skinny-dipping in the lagoon outside their home, then grab a towel and gather around the picnic table. This was, they said, a Tahitian Initiation! With Blanc Foussy!

Voila!… So here was I…bearded, completely naked after taking off my foot cast, with Jeanine and Sylvain and their three teenage daughters, dipping my toes and other parts into the lagoon facing Moorea in the distance, keeping my eyes on theirs to avoid embarrassment for all of us. The musical South Pacific came to mind, substituting Moorea for Bali Hai! What a life!

After my first awkward lunch and toweling off, Sylvain made arrangements for me to talk—“live” and in French--- to the Tahitian television station’s island audience to describe the journey of HOKULE’A, details of which I was picking up from the Meotai, the chase boat. I scheduled short five-minute conversations on their evening news, in front of a map of the journey so far, starting off the coast of Big Island, Hawaii, where I had been airlifted off the rubber raft.

Dale Bell, Jeanine

Sylvain also took me around the island to meet Bengt Danielsen, one of the six crew members who Thor had recruited for KON TIKI. Bengt, with his boxes of books about Polynesian anthropology, had remained behind after the landing. I was living in a dream!

It was the end of May 1976. Almost 30 days after leaving the Hawaiian islands, with Navigator Mau Pialug of the Micronesian Island Satawal in charge and 14 crew members on board, HOKULE’A was sailing, without instruments, guided only by the stars, the winds, the waves, and the flights of birds. Mau aimed her southeasterly down across the equator so that she could reach the latitude of Tahiti, then make a “right turn” to encounter the French Polynesian island group.

When I began my talks on TV, HOKULE’A was about to make the right turn where, according to the map, she might encounter the Marquesas Islands.

Mau, HOKULE’A, and her crew had succeeded. They had “land-fall” off Mataiva, a small atoll located south of the Marquesas Islands and at the western tip of the Tuamotu archipelago.. To their complete astonishment, local fisherman spied the double-hulled Polynesian voyaging canoe, on the high seas for 30 days, in their “backyard”, the first encounter of this kind in hundreds of years.

The HOKU crew embraced them. The island held a feast. Food, dancing, and singing welcomed the Hawaiians, who stayed for two days, getting fed, washed, and cleaned up for the final leg of their journey to Tahiti and into history.

Knowing all of this, I made some final arrangements with Sylvain for the historic arrival of HOKULE’A in the Papeete harbor. My nightly television updates were inspiring articles in the local papers and on the radio.

People on the streets and in the restaurants were excited. I was even recognized as “that HOKULE’A person on television.”

When the bright morning of June 5, 1976 arrived, the entire shoreline of the harbor was stacked for more than a mile with thousands of people standing, singing, cheering, waving their flags, wading waist deep in the Pacific. It was said that the island of Tahiti actually tipped a bit from the weight of the populace on that shore. Dozens of boats and canoes were waiting to greet---and embrace HOKU. Never before, and probably never since!

Having been on the stage at Woodstock in August 1969 with our 14 camera teams, this scene in front of me was throbbing with drums and chanting like no other! Unless this kind of crowd had greeted Captain Cook on his first arrival in the 1770’s. Or were paid as “extras” on Marlon Brando’s movie, Mutiny on the Bounty in 1962. Sylvain had worked on that picture.

And where was Sylvain today? As he had done in 1947, when Thor and his five crew members had arrived, he was prepared. Early in the morning, Sylvain and Jeanine had boarded the local helicopter whose pilot knew them well. They were able to capture movie film and still photos of one of the most historic moments in the history of his adopted island, Tahiti. When HOKU finally pushed on shore, people crawled all over her and tried to climb her two masts.

We ---Sylvain, Jeanine, and I, and their family celebrated that night with another bottle of Blanc Foussy, Moorea shimmering in the distance. A dream that began in 1950, when the first edition of the Book-of-the-Month-Club selection KON TIKI arrived on my doorstep, was now fulfilled beyond my wildest expectations.

Flash forward. Little would I know that after Voyage of the HOKULE’A was broadcast on January 18, 1977, nationally and internationally as the first 90-minute feature length National Geographic Special, I would get a call from one of my mentors, Aubrey Singer, Secretary General of the BBC, to meet him in Nice, France at the end of April 1977. We would embark on another adventure, he guaranteed, the details of which he would describe to me once I had arrived in the south of France.

When I got off the plane in Nice, Aubrey told me he would be introducing me, tomorrow, to Thor Heyerdahl, who was now living in Colla Micheri, Italy, with his family. Aubrey wanted me to lead an international consortium of 6 broadcasters, formed in part by PBS, the station WQED in Pittsburgh where I was working, and the National Geographic Society. He wanted me to document with all of the gear, people, and expertise that I had assembled for HOKULE’A, Thor Heyerdahl’s last expedition, The TIGRIS, that would begin in Mesopotamia (Iraq) that August. Our base-camp hotel would be at the junction of the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers where, mythologically, Noah had built his ark of berdi reeds, in the land of the legendary, prehistoric Marsh Arabs.

As we met, I told Thor of my encounter with Sylvain and Jeannine more than a year earlier. Sylvain had taken me to his darkroom to show me all of the photos he had taken of KON TIKI. Thor asked if I had met Bengt? Yes, I replied, Sylvain was my escort. The miraculous circle was closed with an embrace. We talked some more.

Thor then asked me to also serve as Spanish-to-English translator for the Aymara Indian team of four from Peru’s Lake Titicaca who would arrive and help build the new reed ship.

Could I also help, he asked, to translate Russian-English for Yuri Sankievitch, and Spanish-English for German Carasco from Mexico, two of his crew members from the RA EXPEDITONS who would join TIGRIS?

Pinch me, or was I dreaming??

Miraculous life---“You Never Know”--- had come full circle in just a quarter century, propelled by a book, a camera, an ear for languages, happenstance and boldness. Funny. Overwhelming!

After leaving Thor and Aubrey in Italy, I flew to Paris…another opportunity for a Blanc Foussy with Jeanine and Sylvain, this time on their barge on the banks of the Seine, within sight of Notre Dame Cathedral illuminated at night. The carousel of life was still spinning. Thank you, Sylvain and Jeanine, and Thor and your family.

By Dale Bell.

dale@mediapolicycenter.org

This magnificent photo-report published in «La Dépêche de Tahiti» newspaper describing the arrival of the Hokule’a in the port of Papeete in June 1976 is signed by Christian DUROCHER.

This young emeritus journalist, recently arrived in Tahiti, has just been hired for La Dépêche for two months by its founder Philippe Mazelier. The young DUROCHER will exercise his talents as a major reporter thus contributing to the fame of the most widely read information newspaper in Tahiti for forty years.

I warmly thank our friend Christian for allowing us to reproduce his report on the arrival of the Hokule’a in Tahiti.

Thanks from the director of
Time-Life International

October 28, 1947,

My dear Sylvain,

I have to thank you for the photos from the «Kon Tiki» expedition you sent us, first because we were able to use two of them - for the front page.

We got a text on the expedition from Heyerdahl. Your photos gave us the touch we needed and second because it allows us to get to know you, Mr. Sylvain, who, if we judge by the photos received, is - in our opinion - a very good photographer.

The excellence of your work, Sylvain, makes me wonder if you could do some photo reporting for LIFE.

We do not have a photographer in Oceania, and to our knowledge, you are the first in this area to know how to use a device to tell a story. I don’t have a story to suggest to you at the moment because we in America don’t know much about what’s going on there, but I know very well, from Heyerdahl and Haugland who told me a lot about it, what a beautiful island Tahiti is and how good it is to live there.

Maybe you could do a photo report that highlights this country? And then there must be some customs and events in that part of the world that might interest the American image-loving public.

If you are interested in reporting for LIFE, we will be delighted to see your work. We only give assignments for specific scenarios that will surely interest us, but if you read the signatures of our correspondents, you will see that 50% of our photo documentation comes from photographers like you, not those attached to the newspaper.

Thank you again for sending us the pictures of the “Kon Tiki”. Hope to have the pleasure of seeing more photos from you. We will also put you on the list of our photographers, and we will think of you if we have a specific assignment on your side of the world.

Sincerely yours,
G. W. Churchill
Assignment Editor

Celebrities passing through Tahiti

One of the first French singers to take an interest in jazz, Jean Sablon, is a singer-songwriter very popular in France and in the United States of America. In 1953, he found his friend Sylvain and willingly lent his image in a photo with Jeanine for the advertisement of the favorite scooter of Tahitians, «The Vespa» distributed by the group Tracqui et Fils.

Arletty, a great actress of the years Marcel Carné, Michel Simon, Louis Jouvet ... is a legend of Paris also nicknamed «Madame sans gêne» after the film «The evening visitors» ... Passing through Tahiti, she is part of close friends of Sylvain and Jeanine.

Romain Gary is arguably the craziest author who has written a novel with Tahiti as a backdrop. Gaullist from the start, he was an aviator attached to Great Britain with the «Lorraine Bombardment Group», needless to say that he immediately connected with Sylvain during his stay in Tahiti.

A charismatic storyteller and journalist passionate about historical enigmas, the inimitable Alain Decaux succeeds, thanks to his programs broadcast by the ORTF, in communicating to the French his passion for History. Between countless subjects, he co-wrote with Bernard Borderie and Francis Cosne the films «Angélique et le Roy», a popular success of our mothers. He makes new friends in Tahiti with Sylvain and Jeanine.

Martine Carol, a Parisian pretty as a heart, also called Caroline Chérie, «sex symbol» of the 1950s, was the face of French cinema. In 1957, Martine fell in love with Tahiti during the shooting of the film «Le Passager Clandestin». She doesn’t want to leave the island anymore. Sylvain and Jeanine are among her close Tahitian friends.

Serge Reggiani, a prominent figure in French cinema, a great performer of French song, met Sylvain when he came to Tahiti in 1953 for the shooting of the film «Le Passager Clandestin», with Martine Carol.

During his trip to Tahiti, Tino Rossi, the singer of love, will visit the Sylvains for a delicious raw fish that Jeanine has prepared for him.

Captain of the 2nd company of the 27th battalion of Alpine hunters during the Alpine campaign in 44-45, Maurice Herzog made himself known as the first Frenchman to climb Annapurna 8091 m, but due to the cold, he lost his fingers and toes. A trusted man of General de Gaulle, he was Secretary of State for Youth and Sports when he visited Tahiti. Sylvain knows him personally.

Pierre Messmer, a senior civil servant engaged in the FFL, Minister of the Armed Forces in 1960, went to Tahiti for a reconnaissance trip for the de Gaulle government. Madame Messmer and Jeanine had sympathized a lot during this ministerial trip.

Georges Clouzot, great dialogue writer of the 1950s, monster of the 7th art nicknamed the «French Hitchcock» won several awards at the Venice, Berlin and Cannes festivals with «Quai des Orfèvres» - «Miquette et sa Mère» - «Le Salaire» of Fear ”… He retired to Tahiti to write“ L’Enfer ”, a film that he sketched in 1964 with Romy Scheider transformed into a pure object of fantasy and of which Serge Reggiani was the victim… This film did not materialize, but Claude Chabrol will release his own version of the film with Emmanuelle Béart. Sylvain appreciated the talented Clouzot.

Roger Vadim, the precursor of the new wave of artists, director of the film «And God Created Woman» with Brigitte Bardot, goes to Tahiti. Vadim, Sylvain, and Jeanine are the best friends in the world.

Jean-Paul Belmondo’s companion, Ursula Andress, the 1960s goddess of love in a James Bond, travels to Tahiti for a honeymoon. The couple is the subject of a report for the Paris Match by Sylvain.

Jeanine transmits the secrets of preparing raw fish in coconut milk to the famous French chef Raymond Oliver.

Brigitte Bardot, Jean Sicurani, Marlon Brando, Jeanine, Jo Sicurani and her children Aldo and Vanina, 1965

Brigitte Bardot, Gunther Sachs, Jeanine

Paul-Emile Victor, Jeanine, Maima

Jacques Martin and his delicious companion Danièle Evenou were great friends. Every year, the couple came to Jeanine and Sylvain where they spent memorable evenings.

Sylvain and Colette Victor

Michèle Desmasures, Eddy Barclay, Alain Colas, 1974

Little Mareva, Jeanine, Tila Breault

Marc Darnois was not only a close friend, but also Sylvain’s protégé.

Éric Tabarly, Maima

Catherine Deneuve, Jeanine

Ingrid Richon, Claude Lelouch, Marie-Sophie L, Jeanine, 1987

Sylvain, Jeanine, Roger Vadim

Johnny Halliday, Jeanine

Admiral Philippe de Gaulle and his wife during their visit to Tahiti in 1969.

Brigitte Bardot, Gunter Sachs

General de Gaulle and Tahiti

The Adolphe Sylvain and de Gaulle families have friendships dating back to the beginning of the last century. Children, nieces, and nephews of the General meet regularly at the family home of Valmondois to sing old songs with Sylvain on the guitar. In a found letter, Bernard and Sylvie tell us about Sylvain with great emotion. Admiral Philippe de Gaulle and his wife, during their visit to Tahiti in 1969, had set aside a special day to reunite with their childhood friend.

Lydie Adolphe, Sylvain’s sister, collaborates with Professor René Cassin in updating the civil code immediately instituted in France by the future Man of London government. Professor René Cassin is a member of the government of Free France, president of the Constitutional Council in 1958, and Nobel Peace Prize in 1968.

In 1956, invited by councilor mayor Alfred Poroi, member of the Territorial Assembly, de Gaulle arrived in Tahiti on August 30. Quite naturally, Sylvain found General de Gaulle in a small committee, which intrigued some personalities.

After these few introductory notes, a return to the extraordinary links between the man of Free France and Tahiti is necessary to clearly underline the considerable role that the small colony lost in the middle of the Pacific Ocean played in favor of General de Gaulle in London and especially in relation to the Americans.

When Marshal Pétain gave an official speech on the radio announcing to the French that the fighting had to cease and announced his intention to ask Hitler for the terms of an armistice, an angry de Gaulle left France for London.

The next day, he gave the famous speech of June 18, 1940 on the BBC.

This call will be relayed worldwide, to Tahiti where it arrives via Suva radio.

Despite herself, Tahiti finds herself once again - as in 14-18 - at war with Germany alongside the mother country. However, the population remembers with anguish the totally incongruous bombardment of the city of Papeete by two German cruisers on the morning of September 22, 1914.

This is why the Tahitians overwhelmingly refuse the directives of Governor Chastenet de Gery to respect the authority of Vichy favorable to the Third Reich. This hostility to the Vichy government will be radically confirmed when the appeal of June 18 reaches them.

Galvanized, the great influential families of the island rallied to de Gaulle.

To do this, they organized a petition from which it emerged that 5,000 signatures were in favor of de Gaulle against 18 who were hostile to him. The Tahitians expel the pro-Pétain, including Governor Chastenet de Gery, and officially proclaimed the colony’s allegiance to Free France under General de Gaulle.

Winston Churchill showed great sympathy for France, but not to the point of breaking with America in his support for the General.

The situation would suddenly change when Japan attacked Pearl Harbor by surprise on December 7, 1941. America was amazed to see that its main strategic positions in the Pacific Ocean were partially neutralized.

Indeed, Honolulu has just been shelled by Japanese forces, but they have also taken control of Guam Island, Wake Atoll, the Marshall Islands and the Philippines. In addition, the British have just lost Hong Kong and Singapore. Indonesia, home of the Netherlands, also came under the yoke of Japan. The Japanese only had to invade Australia and New Zealand to become masters of the entire Pacific Ocean.

The strategically weakened America was then forced to go to war with Japan and its German ally.

America, somehow doing well despite itself, entered the conflict that shook old Europe, giving it the full dimension of a second world war.

From December 1941, American generals organized themselves to establish strategic defense and supply points for their army. Inevitably, the southern hemisphere of the Pacific Ocean poses a problem as the Americans cannot find a safe place to set up a defense, supply, and storage base for their fleet whose home port Honolulu has just been seriously damaged.

It is the small island of Bora Bora that the Americans identify as the best port in this area of the South Pacific to accommodate their naval forces. Bora Bora is equidistant from America, New Zealand, and Australia. This island has a vast lagoon capable of accommodating several warships. There is only one pass to enter the inner lagoon, so it is easy to protect. The mountainous island has a relief that allows the installation of several batteries to protect the island on all sides of the compass rose.

But, to the great surprise of the American government, the one who controls the island of Bora Bora granted them permission to set up the American base is none other than the famous de Gaulle who speaks in the name of Free France but which the Americans hitherto disdained.

Secretly, the agreements are made between the American general staff and de Gaulle. Extraordinary conditions are granted to the General in return for the free access of Americans to Bora Bora. It is possible to assert that the “Bora Bora card”, key to the Americans’ BOBCAT operation, which has since become an essential asset, has also given the man of Free France the opportunity to obtain from the great Uncle Sam, aid which enabled him to arm General Leclerc’s 2nd Armored Division, which, let us remember, included 200 battle tanks, 4,200 vehicles, 600 guns, 2,000 machine guns and financial resources.

Before leaving Tahiti on September 2, 1956, de Gaulle said:

«I take away from my quick trip, not only a lot of memories but also strong emotions that will not be erased until the end of my days ...»

Apart from Sylvain, few people will be able to appreciate the extent of this last sentence the general utters before leaving Tahiti.

We reproduce, on the following page, the entire speech of General de Gaulle delivered on August 30, 1956 from the kiosk in the Place du Maréchal Joffre in Papeete in front of a large audience who came to pay homage to the man of June 18.

Marc Darnois, John Martin; the beautiful Jeanine crowns General de Gaulle with flowers according to Tahitian custom.

The arrival of General de Gaulle on the Papeete seafront

General de Gaulle visiting the commune of Papara

All the communes of Tahiti wish to receive the June 18 man

Welcome speech by Papara’s tavana with John Martin and Governor Toby

It is by sea, passing through the port of Papeete, that the general arrives in the capital. A royal canoe precedes the launch of the national navy where de Gaulle and his suite are located. Several dozen double canoes ridden by 16 men pay homage to him as was done in the time of Queen Pomare.

General de Gaulle arrives in a Tahitian canoe in Moorea.

Speech given by General de Gaulle

on the day of his arrival in Tahiti,

August 30, 1956, place du maréchal Joffre

It has been many years now that I have wished with all my soul to be here in Tahiti. This is to tell you how great is my emotion, how great is my pride and my satisfaction to be among you today, and how much I have been touched by the proofs of deep sympathy that you have already shown me since the instant when I took my first step onto your shore.

Tahiti, when France rolled into the abyss, Tahiti never stopped believing in her. You were in this Ocean worlds apart from me, who found myself like a castaway on the shores of England. Yet, at the same time, we all thought and wanted the same things. We thought, and we wanted that France should not be servile, humiliated, ashamed, but that we had to fight for its liberation, for its victory, and for its greatness.

Since then, the years have passed, and by all kinds of means, the world is changing. It is not difficult now to see what new features our world is taking on. These new features are here, as I see them.

First, there is the tendency of all popular and national ethnic entities to retain their own character and self-determination. There is at the same time the primordial need to be deliberately attached to a great economic, cultural, political whole, without which each territory would quickly fall into misery, would be the prey of ignorance, and would serve as a battlefield for all the empires of the world.

Another feature of the new world is the establishment, all around our earth, of this great network of air, naval and air-naval communications, which surround the world and without which, more and more, we can no longer imagine human relations, exchanges or activities.

The third feature of our new world is the beginning of the reign of atomic energy, which brings to all men both immense possibilities for progress and a terrible threat.

Here is well, I believe, how one can express the three new conditions in which our earth will now walk for the coming era.

Well! In this changing world, Tahiti until now distant, isolated in the middle of the seas, Tahiti suddenly sees an important role opening up. A new role on the terrestrial globe. It is only to look at the world map and to trace the air communications of tomorrow to see that Tahiti is necessarily for many of these communications an essential and capital step, and, on the other hand, it is only too easy to see that as we imagine the perils that the atomic threat poses on the earth, that Tahiti, where she is, surrounded by invulnerable immensities of the ocean, can tomorrow be a refuge and a center of action for the whole of civilization. This is how the transformation of the world that we are witnessing makes your island, and the islands around it, suddenly become so important.

Well! This new destiny which is open to Tahiti, will work there with France! I know very well that many here today, the French foremost, are sometimes disheartened and often even irritated by the apparent and momentary weakening of France.

When you think of what has happened recently and even for a very long time, in terms of trials and sacrifices, one cannot be surprised by the momentary regression of this great country. But, me, in the most disinterested way, I say to the Tahitians, I say to the Polynesians, and I will say to the Caledonians, that France, whatever the appearances of the moment, France remains a country with a very deep and very strong spirit. France may have suffered, and even today, we sometimes receive insults from those even for whom it has done the most, but France remains nonetheless alive, and believe me, all the signs show that in the distant future, France is once again called upon to play a very large world role. This you know, I am sure, and above all, you feel it, as I feel it myself. This is to say with what confidence I have come to see you. This is to say with what certainty I believe that your country must continue to walk with France towards the common destiny of progress, happiness, and greatness.

Long live Tahiti, long live the Republic, long live France! Papeete, August 30, 1956
Charles de GAULLE

The general pays tribute to the brave Tahitian soldiers who died for France.

XXth Century Fox - 1957

My dear friend,

A few lines to accompany the letter of praise from my friend Frank, advertising director of XXth Century Fox studios - he was delighted with your superb work, he says that you are a great artist and that no one has ever done better for him - all your photos have been enlarged to gigantic sizes and color ones will be used on the covers of American magazines. All your friends on the team, Gardner and Guy in the lead, and Lloyd, Jack Gerstman, Till Jerry, etc ... will remember you fondly and send their regards to your Madam. We all think of you, talk about you, and thank you again for your generous hospitality. My wife also sends you all her best regards. Everyone at the studio is delighted with your work, and please believe that we will never fail to recommend you to our colleagues.

Thanks again. Excuse the hastily typed present, but I just finished one «Paradise» and started another one again and so I have little time of my own.

Hoping to see you again soon, I send you a good and friendly handshake,

R Florey
11411 Ayrshire Road
Los Angeles, California

Gardner Mackay, hero of the American soap opera «Captain Troy», sings a Hawaiian song for Jeanine with his ukulele.

The «Bounty» rebels
Anthony Hopkins, Mel Gibson

Reception of the Bounty by the Polynesians

Lieutenant William Bligh, played by Anthony Hopkins

Fletcher Christian, performed by Mel Gibson

Reconstruction of the arrival of HMS Bounty in Matavai Bay for the purposes of the MGM filming of the Bounty rebels.

Stamps – Currency

The appearance of the first postage stamps in Tahiti dates back to 1862, stamps from the «French Colonies» series general issue (1859-1865, series of stamps known as the imperial eagle, tinted paper, non-serrated labels). Another series appears in 1871, with the effigy of Napoleon III, on tinted paper, non-serrated vignettes; also in 1871, the Ceres series, also not serrated, was issued, then the Sage types in 1877 and the Alphée Dubois types in 1881 ...

It was not until 1892 that mass-produced Oceania stamps, specific to Tahiti, appeared. The first series of three serrated vignettes with Polynesian motifs (portrait of vahine, Tahitians preparing copra, and the Fautaua valley - spelled Fataoua) dates from 1913. In 1915 appeared the first stamps (Sage type) mass produced EFO, for French establishments of Oceania.

In the thirties, the motifs diversified, but until 1939, the stamps carried the mention «Establishments of Oceania».

From 1939, the mention «French establishments of Oceania» will appear. From 1941, the vignettes were overwritten with «Free France», Tahiti and her islands having chosen to follow General de Gaulle’s call.

The last EFO stamps date from 1956. After which, in 1958, the first “French Polynesia” vignettes were issued, a series of five stamps depicting a vahine playing the ukulele, a portrait of a crowned man, a patia thrower, a vahine with a seashell and a couple of dancers.

As early as 1948, the Post Office had called on the artist Jacques Boullaire to give local stamps a more Polynesian artistic character.

This quest for the idyllic image of a happy Polynesia will continue, of course, with Sylvain himself.

Indeed, from 1958, the Post Office of French Polynesia will regularly call upon Sylvain’s photographs for his jagged vignettes. His first philatelic appearances were undoubtedly masterpieces. Sylvain was already adding a powerful imprint, his own, to the Polynesian imagery that is not lacking in exoticism and colors since a certain Paul Gauguin preceded Sylvain on this road ...

The banknotes are illustrated after
photos by Sylvain

The history of money in French Polynesia has been the subject of a fine work by Christian Beslu. This emeritus author recounts with picturesque anecdotes the fascinating history of money in Tahiti. The first banknotes issued by the Banque de l’Indochine appeared in 1914. It was a five franc note; the motif in red represents a seated helmeted woman holding a caduceus. Then there is a twenty franc note in black and white. It will take fifty years for beautiful banknotes to finally appear in Tahiti. These new banknotes, from 1969, will be issued by the Overseas Emission Institute and will replace all other denominations. These are bills of one hundred francs, five hundred francs, and one thousand francs. The printing will be full color. Here again, we find Sylvain’s signature: his photographs will have been used for the creation of the engravings which appear on the banknotes.

Aerial view used for 100 Francs notes. The young woman opposite is named Noëlla, wife of Émile Vernaudon.

The house that appears on the 1000 Francs banknote

Papeete from the 1960s, Faa’a Airport is operational. We can see, moored at the cabotage wharf, the replica of the famous «Bounty» that the MGM brought to Tahiti for the filming of «Révoltés de la Bounty» with Marlon Brando.

Close-up of the cabotage quay with the 2 warehouses of the customs service

Sylvain and cinema

At 18, handsome as a god, Sylvain was chosen to play the main role of the film «Team».

This is a short film directed by Maurice Labro. The year 1940 marks the birth of the history of talking cinema with images synchronized with sound.

This film is a fiction commissioned by the Ministry of Youth and Family. It has an educational mission intended to make young people aware of the benefits of community life, manual work, and training in wood-iron workshops. Sports, songs, choirs, and vigils are on the menu of basic activities, to which we will add many works of public utility: clearing, the opening of roads, irrigation canals, draining of marshes, preparation of firewood for bakeries, construction barracks, reconstruction of old farms … The evenings are an opportunity for exchanges between men from all walks of life. We are also preparing theater performances and skits.

The cult of honor rediscovered by collective work in the service of others constitutes an ideal of fraternity which is the DNA of the youth camps of this time.

During the shooting of this film, the young Sylvain immersed himself in the world of cinema, which will fascinate him all his life. Sylvain realizes that he is gifted in all the trades which touch on the 7th art; This is why, after the war, he proposed to make a feature film that tells his story in combat. That of this tank crew, that illustrates their will to fight, their endurance, and their invincible strength in memory of their leader who disappeared in the fire facing the enemy.

But war once again invites itself into Sylvain’s life, another war in Indochina. The film project which tells the fabulous story of this tank crew of the 2nd Armored Division will not be completed since Sylvain accompanies General Leclerc in the Far East, no longer to protect him with a tank but armed with his camera and his camera as a war correspondent.

It is in Indochina and especially the ruins of the Angkor temple, lost in the heart of the Cambodian forest that he will discover during his journey with General Leclerc, that will provoke such a cultural shock for Sylvain that he cannot help but tell what he discovers about Khmer civilization.

In 1946, he made his first documentary on Angkor’s anastylosis, «Sunken City», filmed on 35mm. The management of the Museums of France will acquire the film for distribution in national museums in Paris and in the provinces.

By chance, Indochina propelled Sylvain aboard the «Lagrandière», sent on a mission to take stock of the French possessions in the South Pacific. Sylvain readily agrees to change his work schedule for a while, which includes going to Tibet before meeting his friends in Paris. He replaces the absent photographer for this mission. Bidding farewell to Saigon, the ship leaves Borneo on the port side, crosses the invisible equator, skirts New Guinea, soars into the immensity of the Coral Sea, and here it is entering the pretty port of Noumea in New Caledonia. The journey resumes in the direction of the astonishing condominium of the New Hebrides (Port-Villa, Port-Sandwich, Espiritu-Santo), and then it is the kingdom of Ouvea in Wallis with Lavelua, with its endearing king. Finally, the Tahitian journey begins with its myriads of small islands to visit.

But Tahiti has been the dream of the whole crew for a long time. The boat is a flutter, bewitched by the scent of the flowers when it docks in Papeete.

Captain Bureau was not mistaken when addressing Sylvain the day before leaving Saigon:

«You won’t come back!» he had said, hammering out every syllable. Indeed, Tahiti enchants him. He speaks of it as if it is the most beautiful corner of the world; he will make his nest there. The world of cinema is more than ever part of his projects, but we are far from any metropolis, and film projects are much more complex to set up. However, Sylvain’s work is of interest to the major publishing houses and film production companies that come to Tahiti.

Thus in 1955, Bernard Borderie approached the artist to produce a fiction entitled «Tahiti or the joy of living» with Georges De Caunes, Roland Armontel, and the beautiful Maea Flohr ...

Sylvain is called by the Italian director Folco Quilici to make another fiction entitled «Paradise of men». This film is intended to be an extraordinary trip to the Polynesian islands.

1956, Francis Mazière approaches Sylvain for the production of his film “Teiva, little prince of the islands”. This is the idyllic life of a 6 year old child (Revi Vaitoare) who lives on the island of Maupiti. He lives freely, feeds on coconuts, plays in the lagoon with sharks, moves all by himself to a neighboring island with his canoe, discovers wild horses and even a volcano ...

1960, Paul Gégauff directed a film inspired by a work by Louis Stevenson «Le Reflux». This is the story of three adventurers who arrived in Tahiti and who try to transport a shipment of bottles of champagne … The actors are not strangers: Roger Vadim, Franco Fabizi, Serge Marquand.

Sylvain actor of the film «Team»

Report on a project to produce a novelist film

on the birth of the Leclerc Division in Free France.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

PURPOSE OF THE FILM.- To bring to the attention of the public the birth, spirit and action of our division.

GENERAL STRUCTURE.- Overall painting of F.F.L. before the formation of the division; presentation of the elements that must constitute it: overview of their action on the different battlefields.- Morocco, melting pot where division was formed.- Trips of the division.- Disembarkation.- Paris.- Alsace.

SUBJECT.- Fictionalized and familiar story of a tank crew who lost its leader early in the action. From the memory of this missing leader, the crew draws their will to fight, endurance, and invincible strength. The spirit of the crew survives the loss of its members.

IMPLEMENTATION PLAN.-

- Constitution of a group of producers chosen with the collaboration of the General Directorate of Cinema, which is ready to partially subsidize the project.

- Possible agreement with the British government for travel facilities and raw materials. - A small artistic and technical team made up of fighting elements would be ready to take on the coordination of the work.

SCENARIO.- Under the supervision of eminent professionals, the scenario would be drawn up by witnesses who experienced the action.

Captain SCHUMANN would be prepared to support the Government in making this film, which is of undeniable historical interest.

Professor CASSIN would be happy, if necessary, to lend himself to the establishment of Franco-British relations, all at least with regard to the first part of the film.

ADOLPHE Sylvain

His last appearances in the cinema will take place in 1984 during the filming of the 3rd version of the «Bounty rebels» with Mel Gibson in the role of Captain Fletcher Christian and Anthony Hopkins in the role of Lieutenant Bligh. The splendid vahine that turned Gibson’s head will be beautifully interpreted by Tevaite Vernette.

Sylvain will also have directed many commercials.

Two major film projects followed up on the soap opera «Teva in Operation Gauguin»; it is about Teva’s adventures in the South Seas and a feature film called «Mu, the Submerged Civilization».

Teva at the helm of the «Iaorana»

TEva, the fire

complete history

Musical recordings on discs

While Eddy Lund and Guilbert specialize in new songs, dance tunes, we, along with Marc, focus on recording island tunes and folk songs of the islands, recordings on 78 rpm, of course, on flexible disks that we then rewrite on “hard” disks, in the studio, where a whole team works with us: Nono Nouveau, Dédé Nouveau, Eliane Hirshon, Augustine …

art photography

Sylvain with his Rollei, magnifies the myth of the Vahine and portrays the Tahitians’art of living

Presentation by his son Teva

Papeete, Tahiti May 2020

Sylvain grew up near the Butte Montmartre, in this nursery of artists, this landmark of bohemians and cabarets, the melting pot where the biggest names of the artistic and literary avant-garde that shaped the world of ‘art. Monet, Cézanne, Delâtre, Van Gogh, Valadon, Apollinaire, Modigliani, Vlaminick, Lautrec, Gauguin, Picasso, Renoir drew from it the essence of their artistic expression.

The world of great artists was also that of Sylvain. He was born there and drank from it. Sylvain is an artist in every sense of the word. He is a technically proficient creator with a keen artistic sense in everything he does, whether in theater, music, photography, film, or writing. Sylvain has the power to create beauty with anything he touches; he always has the will to show us the beauty of life.

In 1946, when he arrived in Tahiti, the way of life of Polynesian society had already largely been adapted to the European model, in particular in the city of Papeete which became the economic heart of the island where the traders, the colonial administration, the market, schools, the hospital ... And as a result, the population of this small town is far from resembling the extravagant stories of the first navigators.

Himself a victim of the image of the «Vahiné» myth, he realizes that this city and its people are certainly not a destination where men from elsewhere can pick up young women eager for adventure.

On the contrary, he wants to give this caricatural image a much more poetic meaning, a meaning that goes beyond the natural expression of bodies. Because that is how he saw the myth of the «Vahine» thanks to Jeanine, who in his eyes represents the height of Tahitian grace. Beauty resulting from a delicious blend of all the skin tones this planet has produced.

The «Vahiné» is therefore not this beautiful creature of the feminine gender who waits quietly at the edge of the water leaning against a coconut tree leaning over a white sand beach. But since this image persists in the collective memory, then Sylvain will reconstitute it with his camera by magnifying it, by presenting it with the eyes of love, the love of life, which is different from voluptuousness or eroticism. Sylvain’s ‘’ Vahiné ’’ photos may be sensual, but they are neither erotic nor vulgar. If you carefully observe the eyes of the «Vahines» that Sylvain presents, they have the gaze of tenderness and not that of sensuality.

In addition to raising the myth of the “Vahiné ‘’ to the rank of the most beautiful artistic nude, Sylvain will endeavor to seduce his audience by presenting Tahiti, his new land of welcome, in a much more flattering angle than reality.

A typical example of this photographer’s work is the photograph of the fisherman who gives his lady a nice trevally at the end of his harpoon. Both sport a cheerful smile, which does not reflect a scene from reality. This photograph is a true creation of the mind. It’s a work of art. Sylvain wanted to show his audience a scene from the happy life of a Tahitian couple who go to look for their fish in the lagoon in front of their home. Because in reality, it is quite rare for a woman to accompany her man fishing.

On the other hand, if he catches a trevally of this size with his harpoon, the fish will not be given into the hands of his “Vahiné’’ to prevent her from injuring herself with the prickles of the fins, because even pierced by the spikes of the harpoon, the fish is still very moving. It will therefore be placed at the bottom of the canoe. The fisherman will make sure that the beast is dead so that it does not fall back into the water while struggling. But in this photo, the staging is absolutely not visible; only the spirit of this creation remains, which aims to show the simple and happy life of a Tahitian with his «Vahine». This photo will bear Sylvain’s characteristic signature at the bottom right.

Sylvain will realize many scenes of life in Tahiti. All his creations will be meticulously studied, prepared in advance. The essential ingredients that will appear in the image will be sorted, the flowers, the sarong with the floral pattern, a little smile on the lips, the turquoise and transparent water of the lagoon… But that won’t be all. Prospective locations must also pay respects to the divine proportion of the golden ratio. The perfectly straight horizon always located one third of the image. Gray tones should not be replaced by black with too strong a contrast. Sharpness, if I had to say it, is essential of course. In addition, anything that might make one think of modernity should not appear in the image. For example the tin roof of a house, the metal ring that surrounds the trunk of a coconut tree, a vehicle, a barrier; all of this is prohibited. The complete content of the image must be exclusively natural.

Essential is the choice of characters. Sylvain was captivated by the beauty of the Tahitians. The women and men who appeared in his photos were required to be of pure Polynesian origin. This was a fairly strict selection criterion during the first three decades of his arrival in Tahiti. Then he let himself be charmed by the beauty of the mix of the population.

Chronology

1886 - July 20,

birth of Adolphe Schimsewitsh in Lodz - Sylvain’s father

1886 - December 18,

birth Jeanne Emilie Killian in Paris - Sylvain’s mother

1892 - July 3,

birth of Paul Vidal in Hiva Oa - Marquesas Islands, Jeanine’s father

1899 - March 9,

birth of Théodora Handerson in Tahiti, Jeanine’s mother

1913 - January 12,

birth of Lydie, Léa, Adolphe, Sylvain’s sister

1920 - April 19,

Adolphe dit Sylvain was born in Paris

1924 - December 4,

birth of Jeannine Vidal in Papeete

1926

Estienne Sylvain school satisfaction testimonial 6 years old

1930

Learns to play guitar at age 10

Chronology

1934

Winner of the Lépine competition (automated crane)

1935

Awarded at the Lépine competition (Limousine marine)

1940

Main actor in the film «Equipe» by Maurice Labro.

1942

• Quite Paris - goes to the free zone in Marseille
• Caught by the Germans - imprisoned in Annecy
• Escape to Isaba the Spanish border
• Caught by the Spaniards, imprisoned for 6 months in the Miranda de Ebro camp

1943 - August 22,

2nd Armored Division for the duration of the war

1944

• April 22,
  Landed Port Talbot England
• July 8,
  Appointed corporal
• August 3,
  Landed Saint-Martin beach in Varreville
• From August 10,
  1944 in action at Ballon - Alençon - Forêt d’Ecouves, Carrouges, Ecouché, Falaise-Argentan, Rambouillet-Limours
• August 25,
  Paris taken by the Porte d’Orléans

Chronology

1944 (suite)

• From September 8, 1944,
  In action Andelot-Blancheville, Chatel, Damas-aux-Bois, Rambevillers, Anglemont, Roville-aux-Chênes, Fauconcourt, Chenevières, Baccarat, Hablainville, Merviller, Brouville
• October 31,
  Brouville attack, 1st citation to the order of the regiment
• November 23,
  prevented the destruction Fort Joffre, 2nd citation to the order of the regiment

1945

• January 31,
  Bois Helsenheim, 3rd order of the regiment
• February 7,
  sent on mission to Paris, then joined his company and participated in the Alsace campaign until the capture of Bertesgaden.
• August 7,
  C.E.F.E.O press card at the information commissioner of Leclerc’s office
• September
  on the way to Indochina on the Suffren
• December 12,
  demobilized, entered the information commissioner of Leclerc’s office

Chronology

1946

• March 9,
  production of the film Angkor «The Sunken City»
• June-July report on Pekin, Shanghai, Saigon
• August 28, Sylvain leaves Saigon for a tour of the Pacific aboard the Lagrandière
• September 6, the Coral Sea
• September 20, Noumea
• September 28, Port Villa, «Vanuatu»
• October 1st, Wallis
• October 11, Ducos among the Lepers
• October 15, Ouvéa

1946 TAHITI

• October 27, arrival in Tahiti, Unforgettable day «The meeting with Jeanine».
• Novembre 5, tour in the Marquesas Islands - Bora Bora - Raiatea - Australes…
• December 4, Sylvain announces to his mother that he is going to get married

1947

• December 10, birth of Vahinemoea, Jacqueline
• August, report from Kon Tiki broadcast around the world

Chronology

1948

Participation in the creation of the ORTF in Tahiti
March 18, marriage Sylvain and Jeanine

1949

Creation of the «Mareva» records

1950

Creation of the «Photo Service» store with a storefront in Papeete
May 10, birth of Eliane, Vaea, Tearai

1952

Production of the film «Pacific pearl oyster»
April 23, birth of Turia, Hinano, Marie-Thérèse, Terangi

1953

Production of the film «Sportifs de Tahiti»

1954

Production of the film «Filariose à Tahiti»
May 23, birth of Teva, Sylvain, Heremoana, Joël

Chronology

1956 - August 30
Report on General de Gaulle’s trip to Tahiti

1957
Participation in the filming of the film Revolt of the Bounty with Marlon Brando

1963
April 9, birth of Maïma, Tehani, Nadège

1964
Making of the film «Les Jets at the hour of dreams»

1965

Making of the film «Port de Papeete»

1966
Making of the film «Atoll at hour H»

1967
Making of the film «Tahiti 67»

1968 à 1970
Filming of the soap opera «Teva in Operation Gauguin»

1970
Broadcast of the soap opera «Teva in Operation Gauguin» in B&W in Tahiti in color in France

Chronology

1974
Directing of the film «The tree of life - Te Tumu raau, Te Ora»

1976
Making of the film «Molokai»

1977
Making of the film «Manureva»

1981
Directing of the film «The plane at the end of the world»

1991 - March 19,

death in Tahiti of Adolphe SYLVAIN

When they exchanged the first glance, their little hearts started to pound, the little spark began to shoot out in their eyes ... They say of couples who are victims of love at first sight that their happiness does not last long. But for Jeanine and Sylvain, the adrenaline that rises that day will continue to increase in intensity. Throughout their life, they will love each other ardently, letting themselves be carried away by the whirlwind of passion. Some call it pure happiness, and we can say it, it doesn’t just exist in fairy tales!

‘’ Aux marches du Palais ‘’ is part of Sylvain’s immense repertoire of songs, but that day, when Sylvain goes to interpret it for his beauty, he knows very well that she has so many lovers that she doesn’t know which one to take, but he also knows that no one will know how to seduce that beauty as well as him.

This song we often heard at parties and birthdays. Sylvain interpreted it so well, as if this song had been written only for the two of them! It was always with great emotion that we listened to him sing; that’s why we will end this tribute to Sylvain and Jeanine with the text of this song.

At the steps of a palace

At the steps of a palace

At the steps of a palace

There is such a beautiful girl

Lon la There is such a beautiful girl.

She has so many lovers

That she doesn’t know which

one to take.

He’s a little shoemaker

Who had his preference.

And it’s by putting it on

That he asked her.

Beautiful, if you wanted,

We would sleep together

In a large square bed,

Covered with white canvases.

At the four corners of the bed,

A bunch of periwinkles.

In the middle of the bed,

The river is deep;

All the king’s horses

They come to drink together.

And there we would sleep

Until the end of the world.

Acknowledgments :

Dominique ARLES – Vincent ATIU – Jean-Louis BOISSIN – Tila BREAUD – Aline CARRAZ – Bernard COLLORIG – Lionel DUROY – Marc GONDOLFO – Renaud LEBLOND – Christophe LEGRAND – Benjy MIHIMANA – David MORGAN – Daniel PARDON – Moea SYLVAIN – Taina SYLVAIN – Vaea SYLVAIN – Marie-Jo SYLVAIN – Vaima SYLVAIN – Vatea SYLVAIN – Arcus USANG

The Territorial Archives Service

The families: Robert AUZELLE – Georges WEILS

Le personnel de la SA Pacific Promotion Tahiti – Jeanne CONROY – Michel DESCUNS – Georges FOSTER – Antoine GIDROL – Miriama MARUTOA – Connie ROCHETTE – Tetua ROSENBLATT – Moea VIRAU as well as all those who have not been mentioned but who are friends as well as those who worked for our father Adolphe SYLVAIN.

Produced and distribued by

EURL TEVA SYLVAIN PRODUCTION

BP 625 - Papeete 98713 - TAHITI - French Polynesia

Photography: Adolphe Sylvain © Copyright Teva SYLVAIN

American English translation Masori group