Atuona, Hiva-Oa, Aperiri, 1922.

O Nakohu.

O au Kaoha tuuhoa Koakoau itave tekao ipatumai to Brunnec; Na Brunnec paki mai iau, tuu onotia Kaoha oko au iave; Atahi au ame tao ave oe itiki iau Aua oto maimai omua ahee taua I Menike ua ite au Ta Panama ohia umetao au ua hokotia au eoe Ite aoe.

Mea meitai ote mahina ehee mai oe I Tahiti ahaka ite mai oe iau Eavei tau I Tahiti etahi Otaua fiti tia mai mei Tahiti Ta maimai oe eavei tau I Tahiti Patu mai oe itatahi hamani nau naete inoa Brunnec.

Eahaa iapati mai oe ukoana iau totaua pae ua pao tuu tekao iave Kaoha oe iti haa metaino iau tihe ite nei mouehua Upeau oe iau eiva ehua ua Vei hakaua taua oia tau ete taiene ohua iva ehua.

Kaoha nui I Obriand.

It is I, Nakohu, always, my dear master. I have been very glad to receive news of you by Le Brunnec, and I have seen that you have not forgotten me.

It has given me much sorrow that I did not go with you. I should have seen Panama and many things, but I was afraid that you would grow tired of me and sell me to other Americans.

If it is true that you will return here, write to me in advance by Le Brunnec, and I will go to get you in Papeete. For your stay in Atuona, fear nothing. I have now a nice house of my own on the edge of the river. There you will live and it will be my wife who will do the cooking and I will go to get the food for all of us; that will be much better than before.

I am very happy that you have not forgotten me in so long. It is true that you had told me that you would come back before nine years. I shall wait always.

Love to you, Obriand.

E tuu ona hoa:

U Koana i au taoe hama ni, koakoa oko an i te ite i ta oe tau te kao. A oe e koe te peau o Mohotu Vehine-hae, i te a te tekao, mimi, pake, namu, Tahiatini, aoe i koe toia, ate, totahi teoko, tohutohui toia hee, mehe ihepe Purutia i tihe mai nei io matou. Titihuti, na mate ite hitoto. Te moi a Kake ua mate ite hitoto, i tepo na mate, titahi, popoui ua mate, tatahi, popoui ua mate, titahi, popoui ua mate, te moupuna o Titihuti. U fanau an i te tama e moi o (Elizabethe Taavaupoo) toia inoa pahoe kanahau tautau oko, aoe e hoa e koe to mana metao ia oe, ua inu matou i te kava kona oko Bronec, kona oko Tahiapii, kona oko au, ia tihe to matou metao ia oe, ua too matou i te pora Kava À la santÉ te Freterick. Ena ua tuu atu nei i te ata na oe, upeau au ia ia Lemoine a tuu mai te ata na Freterick. Mea nui tau roti i tenei u fafati au e ua, roti ua tuu i una ou, mea Kaoha ia oe, me ta oe vehine. Kaoha atu nei A poro me Puhei ia oe, Kaoha atu nei Moetai kamuta ia oe. Kaoha atu nei Nakohu.

Kaoha atu nei Timoia oe, Kaoha nui Kaoha nui Ua pao tete kao.

Apae, umoi e koe tooe metao ia matou.

Nau na tooe hoa.

Ah my dear friend:

I have received your letter. I was very happy to have news of you.

Ghost Girl has not forgotten and still says, “Dance, tobacco, rum.”

Many Daughters is not over her sickness; she is worse; when she walks she rolls like the Prussian ship that came here.

Titihuti died of dysentery. The little daughter of KakÉ died of dysentery. The one died in the evening, Titihuti; in the morning the little girl of Titihuti died. I have given birth to a little daughter; her name is Elizabeth Taavaupoo, a pretty little girl, healthy and plump.

We have not stopped thinking of you, dear friend. We drank kava. Happy was Le Brunnec, happy was Tahiapii (sister of Tavati, the little woman in blue). I too was happy. Our thoughts went out to you.

We took the bowl of kava and drank to the health of Frederick. Here I send you as a present my picture. I told Le Moine to take my photograph for you.

I have many roses now; I took two of them which I put on my head as a souvenir for you and your lady. In this letter you have the love of Aporo and Puhei, of Moetai, the carpenter, and of Nakohu and of Timoteo.

Great love to you; great love to you.

I have finished speaking; farewell, and may you not forget us in your thoughts.

I, your friend,

Malicious Gossip.

E tuu ona hoa:

E patu atu nei au i tenei hamani ia oe me tou Kaoha nui. Mea meitai matou paotu. E tiai nei an i taoe hamani, me te Kakano pua, me te mana roti, u haa mei—tai au i titahi keke fenua kei oko, mea tanu roti. Eia titahi mea aoe au e kokoa koe nui oe i kokoa koe nui oe i kaoha mai ian Koakoa oko nui matou i taoe hamani A patu oe i titahi hamani i tooe hoa, o Vai Etienn ena ioto ote Ami Koakoa, Apatu oe ia Vehine-hae ena i tohe ahi, o te haraiipe.

E na Tahiatini i Tarani me L’Hermier, Mea meitai a fiti mai oe i Atuona nei Kanahau oko to matou fenua me he fenua Farani meitaioko tu uapu O Hinatini ena ioto ote papu meitai Kaoha atu nei tooe hoa Timo ia oe, u tuhaa ia mei a oe, e aha a, ave oe i tuhaa meia ia.

E metao anatu ia ia oe. Kaoha atu nei Kivi ia oe, E hee anatu i te ika hake Ua pao te tekao kaoha nui.

Tavahi T, Mm. Timotheo.

Ah my dear friend:

I write you this letter to send you my good wishes. We are all well. I have awaited in vain a letter from you with the flower seeds you promised me. I have inherited a very large piece of land where I could plant roses.

We have been very sorry that you have not given us more of your news. We have missed you much.

If you wish to write to your friend Vai Etienne, he is in heaven far away.

As for Ghost Girl, she must have fallen into hell.

Many Daughters’ soul must have rejoined l’Hermier in France.

You would do well to return to Atuona. Our land is very beautiful—our roads like those in France.

Vanquished Often is dead, but she must be in paradise.

Your friend, Timoteo, sends you greeting. If you have forgotten him, he has not forgotten you. Come back and we will again drink the kava together.

Kivi tells me that he still thinks of you and that he still goes fishing.

It is finished.

Kaoha nui, Mouth of God.

(Translation)

Cher ami:

You ask me what has become of Barbe Narbonne, of the valley of Taaoa. I will tell you briefly, and probably some of what I shall say you already know. She was married to Wilhelm Lutz, the Tahauku trader, in Tahiti, and all went well. Her mother was at the wedding, but not ManÁ, his long-time companion in Taiohae and Atuona. The married pair occupied the upper floor of the German firm’s big store. There was much gaiety among the Germans and her Tahitian friends. For the first time Barbe rode in an automobile, saw a moving picture, heard a band of music, and attended prize-fights. They were married at the first of July, and on the fourteenth was celebrated the Fall of the Bastille, with tremendous hulas, much champagne, and speeches by the governor, and even by the friendly Germans, such as Monsieur Lutz.

HÉlas! The Scharnhorst and Gneisenau, the kaiser’s cruisers, came here to Atuona, robbed my store, took Jensen, the Dane, and steamed to Tahiti. When the authorities there saw them, they must fire a pop-gun at them, and provoke in turn a rain of six-inch shells. A Chinese was killed, every one ran to the woods, and many stores were set on fire and burned.

When the cruisers were gone, Monsieur Lutz and all the Germans were imprisoned on Motu-Uta, the beautiful little islet a thousand feet from Lovaina’s Annexe Hotel. Madame Lutz was reproached by the church, the government, and by every one not in prison, for marrying the “animal” Lutz, and immediately they began to give her a divorce on that very ground—that the husband was a German, and therefore not a human being, but an animal. It did not take long, and again she was Mademoiselle Narbonne.

Now she was free, rich, and in civilization. She danced and sang and was dressed in your American clothes, for no ships came from France. But, as in Atuona, rumors began that she was leprous. That did not matter much to the Tahitians who, if they like one, care nothing for what one has, but the whites ceased to be in her company. They did not say aloud what they thought, but only that she had loved a German.

ManÁ went every day of good weather in a little canoe about the islet of Motu-Uta, at a certain distance prescribed by the guards, and made a gesture to Monsieur Lutz, who sat or stood within an enclosure and looked out to sea. Poor Lutz! He died of an aneurism, or, if you will, of a broken Prussian heart.

Mademoiselle Narbonne one day went toward Papenoo. At Faaripoo she saw the inclosure of the leprosarium, where the three or four score lepers are confined. She returned to the Marquesas Islands.

Pauvre fille! Personne n’a voulu se marier avec elle et elle vit avec un vieux Canaque de Taaoa. Elle est retournÉe À la brousse—Poor girl! Nobody wants to marry her and she lives with an old Kanaka of Taaoa. She has returned to the jungle.

I will tell you, my friend, that no matter what Lemoal has said, or her own fears, Mademoiselle Narbonne is not a leper. But the sorcery of the taua has ended her. These Marquesans, even if half white, are yet heathen.

Daughter of the Pigeon is dead of tuberculosis. Ghost Girl died of influenza in Tahiti, where she had gone to continue her joyous life. Peyral and his white daughters have fled to France. Exploding Eggs has taken the daughter of Titihuti; and her husband, from whom he seized her, is content to live with them. Governor L’Hermier des Plantes is governor of the Congo. Song of the Nightingale is in prison for making cocoanut rum. Seventh Man Who Is So Angry has lost his wife of tuberculosis. Vanquished Often died of leprosy in childbirth. Le Moine, the artist, went mad and is dead. Grelet, the Swiss, is dead. PÈre David, PÈre Simeon, PÈre Victorin, are well, as all the nuns. Jimmy Kekela is well; his sister is shut up in a leper hospital. McHenry has been expelled from Tahiti for selling alcoholic liquors to the natives of the Paumotus. Lemoal is dead. Hemeury FranÇois and Scallamera are dead. Vai Etienne, son of Titihuti, is dead. Commissaire Bauda went to the wars.

I have named my second child after you, Frederick. You remember her mother, At Peace, the sister of Malicious Gossip. We dwell in comfort and happiness. Return to live with us.

Votre dÉvouÉ

Le Brunnec.