Chapter XV: Canto II (2)

[Footnote 298: _Manu hulu ma’ema’e_. An allusion to the great
number of plumage birds that were reputed to be found in this
place.]

[Footnote 299: _Puna-hele ia Kaua-kahi-alii_. The birds of the
region are said to have been on very intimate and friendly
terms with Kaua-kahi-alii. (See note _b_, p. 135.)]

[Footnote 300: _Kaili_. The full form is said to be
_Ka-ili-lau-o-ke-koa_—Skin-like-the-leaf-of-the-koa. In the
text of the mele this name is analyzed into its parts and
written as if the phrase at the end were an appellative and
not an integral part of the name itself. This was a mythical
character of unusual beauty, a person of superhuman power,
_kupua_, a mistress of the art of surf-riding, which passion
she indulged in the waters about Wai-lua.]

[Footnote 301: _Hooipo-i-ka-Malanai_. A mythical princess of
Wailua, the grandmother of Kaili. This oft-quoted phrase,
literally meaning to make love in the (gently-blowing)
trade-wind, has become almost a stock expression, standing
for romantic love, or love-making.]

[Footnote 302: _Lehua-wehe_. The piece of ocean near the mouth
of the Wailua river in which Kaili indulged her passion for
surf-riding.]

[Footnote 303: _Kalu-kalu o Kewá_. _Kalu-kalu_ may mean a
species of soft, smooth grass specially fitted for sliding
upon, which flourished on the inclined plain of Kewá, Kauai.
One would sit upon a mat, the butt end of a coconut leaf, or
a sled, while another dragged it along. The Hawaiian name for
this sport is _pahe’e_. _Kalu-kalu_ is also the name applied
to “a very thin gauze-like kapa.” (See Andrews’s Hawaiian
Dictionary.) If we suppose the poet to have clearly intended
the first meaning, the figure does not tally with the
following verse, the fifteenth. Verses 14 and 15 would thus
be made to read:

I desire the kalu-kalu (grass) of Kewá,
That is riding the surf of Maka-iwa.

This is an impossible figure and makes no sense. If, on the
other hand, we take another version and conceive that the
bard had in mind the gauze-like robe of _kalu-kalu_—using
this, of course, as a figure for the person clad in such a
robe—the rendering I have given,

I pine for the sylph, robed in gauze,
Who rides the surf Maka-iwa,

would not only make a possible, but a poetic, picture. Let
the critical reader judge which of these two versions hits
closer to common sense and probability.]

[Translation.]

_Song._

Come up to the wildwood, come;
Let us visit Wai-kini,
And gaze on Pihána-ka-lani,
[Page 137] Its birds of plumage so fine;
5 Be comrade to Hale-lehua,
Soul-mate to Kau’kahi-alii.
O, Kaili, Kaili!
Kaili, leaf of the koa,
Graceful as leaf of the koa,
10 Granddaughter of goddess,
Whose name is the breath of love,
Darling of blooming Lehua.
My lady rides with the gray foam,
On the surge that enthralls the desire.
15 I pine for the sylph robed in gauze,
Who rides on the surf Maka-iwa—
Aye, cynosure thou of all hearts,
In all of sacred Wailua.
Forlorn and soul-empty the house;
20 You pleasure on the beach Ali-ó;
Your love is up here in the wildwood.

This mele hoipoipo, love-song, like the one previously given,
is from Kauai. The proper names that abound in it, whether of
places, of persons, or of winds, seem to have been mostly of
Kauaian origin, furnished by its topography, its myths and
legends. They have, however, become the common property of
the whole group through having been interwoven in the
national songs that pass current from island to island.
[Page 138]

XXI.—THE MUSIC AND MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS OF THE HAWAIIANS

A bird is easier captured than the notes of a song. The
_mele_ and _oli_ of Hawaii’s olden time have been preserved
for us; but the music to which they were chanted, a less
perdurable essence, has mostly exhaled. In the sudden
transition from the tabu system to the new order of things
that came in with the death of Kamehameha in 1819, the old
fashion of song soon found itself antiquated and
outdistanced. Its survival, so far as it did survive, was
rather as a memorial and remembrance of the past than as a
register of the living emotions of the present.

The new music, with its _pa, ko, li_—answering to our do,
re, mi[304]—was soon in everybody’s mouth. From the first it
was evidently destined to enact a role different from that of
the old cantillation; none the less the musical ideas that
came in with it, the air of freedom from tabu and priestcraft
it breathed, and the diatonic scale, the highway along which
it marched to conquest, soon produced a noticeable reaction
in all the musical efforts of the people. This new seed, when
it had become a vigorous plant, began to push aside the old
indigenous stock, to cover it with new growths, and,
incredible as it may seem, to inoculate it with its own
pollen, thus producing a cross which to-day is accepted in
certain quarters as the genuine article of Hawaiian song.
Even now, the people of northwestern America are listening
with demonstrative interest to songs which they suppose to be
those of the old hula, but which in reality have no more
connection with that institution than our negro minstrelsy
has to do with the dark continent.

[Footnote 304: The early American missionaries to Hawaii named
the musical notes of the scale _pa, ko, li, ha, no, la, mi_.]

The one regrettable fact, from a historical point of view, is
that a record was not made of indigenous Hawaiian song before
this process of substitution and adulteration had begun. It
is no easy matter now to obtain the data for definite
knowledge of the subject.

While the central purpose of this chapter will be a study of
the music native to old Hawaii, and especially of that
produced in the halau, Hawaiian music of later times and of
the present day can not be entirely neglected; nor will it be
without its value for the indirect light it will shed on
ancient conditions and on racial characteristics. The
reaction that has taken place in Hawaii within historic times
in response to the stimulus from abroad can not fail to be of
[Page 139] interest in itself.

There is a peculiarity of the Hawaiian speech which can not
but have its effect in determining the lyric tone-quality of
Hawaiian music; this is the predominance of vowel and labial
sounds in the language. The phonics of Hawaiian speech, we
must remember, lack the sounds represented by our alphabetic
symbols _b, c_ or _s, d, f, g, j, q, x_, and _z_—a poverty
for which no richness in vowel sounds can make amends. The
Hawaiian speech, therefore, does not call into full play the
uppermost vocal cavities to modify and strengthen, or refine,
the throat and mouth tones of the speaker and to give reach
and emphasis to his utterances. When he strove for dramatic
and passional effect, he did not make his voice resound in
the topmost cavities of the voice-trumpet, but left it to
rumble and mutter low down in the throat-pipe, thus producing
a feature that colors Hawaiian musical recitation.

This feature, or mannerism, as it might be called, specially
marks Hawaiian music of the bombastic bravura sort in modern
times, imparting to it in its strife for emphasis a sensual
barbaric quality. It can be described further only as a
gurgling throatiness, suggestive at times of ventriloquism,
as if the singer were gloating over some wild physical
sensation, glutting his appetite of savagery, the meaning of
which is almost as foreign to us and as primitive as are the
mewing of a cat, the gurgling of an infant, and the snarl of
a mother-tiger. At the very opposite pole of development from
this throat-talk of the Hawaiian must we reckon the
highly-specialized tones of the French speech, in which we
find the nasal cavities are called upon to do their full
share in modifying the voice-sounds.

The vocal execution of Hawaiian music, like the recitation of
much of their poetry, showed a surprising mastery of a
certain kind of technique, the peculiarity of which was a
sustained and continuous outpouring of the breath to the end
of a certain period, when the lungs again drank their fill.
This seems to have been an inheritance from the old religious
style of prayer-recitation, which required the priest to
repeat the whole incantation to its finish with the outpour
of one lungful of breath. Satisfactory utterance of those old
prayer-songs of the Aryans, the _mantras_, was conditioned
likewise on its being a one-breath performance. A logical
analogy may be seen between all this and that unwritten law,
or superstition, which made it imperative for the heroes and
demigods, _kupua_, of Hawaii’s mythologic age to discontinue
any unfinished work on the coming of daylight.[305]

[Footnote 305: The author can see no reason for supposing that
this prolonged utterance had anything to do with that Hindoo
practice belonging to the _yoga_, the exercise of which
consists in regulating the breath.]
[Page 140]
When one listens for the first time to the musical utterance
of a Hawaiian poem, it may seem only a monotonous onflow of
sounds faintly punctuated by the primary rhythm that belongs
to accent, but lacking those milestones of secondary rhythm
which set a period to such broader divisions as distinguish
rhetorical and musical phrasing. Further attention will
correct this impression and show that the Hawaiians paid
strict attention not only to the lesser rhythm which deals
with the time and accent of the syllable, but also to that
more comprehensive form which puts a limit to the verse.

With the Hawaiians musical phrasing was arranged to fit the
verse of the mele, not to express a musical idea. The
cadencing of a musical phrase in Hawaiian song was marked by
a peculiarity all its own. It consisted of a prolonged
trilling or fluctuating movement called _i’i_, in which the
voice went up and down in a weaving manner, touching the main
note that formed the framework of the melody, then springing
away from it for some short interval—a half of a step, or
even some shorter interval—like an electrified pith-ball,
only to return and then spring away again and again until the
impulse ceased. This was more extensively employed in the oil
proper, the verses of which were longer drawn out, than in
the mele such as formed the stock pieces of the hula. These
latter were generally divided into shorter verses.

MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS

The musical instruments of the Hawaiians included many
classes, and their study can not fail to furnish substantial
data for any attempt to estimate the musical performances,
attainments, and genius of the people.

Of drums, or drumlike instruments of percussion, the
Hawaiians had four:

1. The _pahu_, or _pahu-hula_ (pl. x), was a section of
hollowed log. Breadfruit and coconut were the woods generally
used for this purpose. The tough skin of the shark was the
choice for the drumhead, which was held in place and kept
tense by tightening cords of coconut fiber, that passed down
the side of the cylinder.

The workmanship of the pahu, though rude, was of tasteful
design. So far as the author has studied them, each pahu was
constructed with a diaphragm placed about two-thirds the
distance from the head, obtained by leaving in place a cross
section of the log, thus making a closed chamber of the
drum-cavity proper, after the fashion of the kettledrum. The
lower part of the drum also was hollowed out and carved, as
will be seen in the illustration. In the carving of all the
specimens examined the artists have shown a notable fondness
for a fenestrated design representing a series of arches,
[Page 141] after the fashion of a two-storied arcade, the haunch of the
superimposed arch resting directly on the crown of that
below. In one case the lower arcade was composed of
Roman,-while the upper was of Gothic, arches. The grace of
the design and the manner of its execution are highly
pleasing, and suggest the inquiry, Whence came the
opportunity for this intimate study of the arch?

The tone of the pahu was produced by striking its head with
the finger-tips, or with the palm of the hand; never with a
stick, so far as the writer has been able to learn. Being
both heavy and unwieldly, it was allowed to rest upon the
ground, and, if used alone, was placed to the front of the
operator; if sounded in connection with the instrument next
to be mentioned, it stood at his left side.

The pahu, if not the most original, was the most important
instrument used in connection with the hula. The drum, with
its deep and solemn tones, is an instrument of recognized
efficiency in its power to stir the heart to more vigorous
pulsations, and in all ages it has been relied upon as a
means of inspiring emotions of mystery, awe, terror,
sublimity, or martial enthusiasm.

Tradition of the most direct sort ascribes the introduction
of the pahu to La’a—generally known as La’a-mai-Kahiki
(La’a-from-Kahiki)—a prince who flourished about six
centuries ago. He was of a volatile, adventurous disposition,
a navigator of some renown, having made the long voyage
between Hawaii and the archipelagoes in the southern
Pacific—Kahiki—not less than twice in each direction. On
his second arrival from the South he brought with him the big
drum, the pahu, which he sounded as he skirted the coast
quite out to sea, to the wonder and admiration of the natives
on the land. La’a, being of an artistic temperament and an
ardent patron of the hula, at once gave the divine art of
Laka the benefit of this newly imported instrument. He
traveled from place to place, instructing the teachers and
inspiring them with new ideals. It was he also who introduced
into the hula the kaékeéke as an instrument of music.

2. The _pu-niu_ (pl. XVI) was a small drum made from the
shell of a coconut. The top part, that containing the eyes,
was removed, and the shell having been smoothed and polished,
the opening was tightly covered with the skin of some
scaleless fish—that of the _kala_ (Acanthurus unicornis) was
preferred. A venerable kumu-hula states that it was his
practice to use only the skin taken from the right side of
the fish, because he found that it produced a finer quality
of sound than that of the other side. The Hawaiian mind was
very insistent on little matters of this sort—the mint,
anise, and cummin of their system. The drumhead was stretched
and placed in position while moist and flexible, and was then
made fast to a ring-shaped cushion—_poaha_—of fiber or tapa
that hugged the base of the shell.
[Page 142]
The Hawaiians sometimes made use of the clear gum of the
_kukui_ tree to aid in fixing the drumhead in place.

When in use the pu-niu was lashed to the right thigh for the
convenience of the performer, who played upon it with a thong
of braided fibers held in his right hand (fig. 2), his left
thus being free to manipulate the big drum that stood on the
other side.

Of three pu-niu in the author’s collection, one, when struck,
gives off the sound of c̅ below the staff; another that of
c̅♯ below the staff, and a third that of c̿♯ in the
staff.

While the grand vibrations of the pahu filled the air with
their solemn tremor, the lighter and sharper tones of the
pu-niu gave a piquancy to the effect, adding a feature which
may be likened to the sparkling ripples which the breeze
carves in the ocean’s swell.

3. The _ipu_ or _ipu-hula_ (pl. VII), though not strictly a
drum, was a drumlike instrument. It was made by joining
closely together two pear-shaped gourds of large size in such
fashion as to make a body shaped like a figure 8. An opening
was made in the upper end of the smaller gourd to give exit
to the sound. The cavities of the two gourds were thrown into
one, thus making a single column of air, which, in vibration,
gave off a note of clear bass pitch. An ipu of large size in
the author’s collection emits the tone of c in the bass.
Though of large volume, the tone is of low intensity and has
small carrying power.

For ease in handling, the ipu is provided about its waist
with a loop of cord or tapa, by which device the performer
was enabled to manipulate this bulky instrument with one
hand. The instrument was sounded by dropping or striking it
with well-adjusted force against the padded earth-floor of
the Hawaiian house.

The manner and style of performing on the ipu varied with the
sentiment of the mele, a light and caressing action when the
feeling was sentimental or pathetic, wild and emphatic when
the subject was such as to stir the feelings with enthusiasm
and passion.

Musicians inform us that the drum—exception is made in the
case of the snare and the kettle drum—is an instrument in
which the pitch is a matter of comparative indifference, its
function being to mark the time and emphasize the rhythm.
[Page 143] There are other elements, it would seem, that must be taken
into the account in estimating the value of the drum.
Attention may be directed first to its tone-character, the
quality of its note which touches the heart in its own
peculiar way, moving it to enthusiasm or bringing it within
the easy reach of awe, fear, and courage. Again, while,
except in the orchestra, the drum and other instruments of
percussion may require no exact pitch, still this does not
necessarily determine their effectiveness. The very depth and
gravity of its pitch, made pervasive by its wealth of
overtones, give to this primitive instrument a weird hold on
the emotions.

This combination of qualities we find well illustrated in the
pahu and the ipu, the tones of which range in the lower
registers of the human voice. The tone-character of the
pu-niu, on the other hand, is more subdued, yet lively and
cheerful, by reason in part of the very sharpness of its
pitch, and thus affords an agreeable offset to the solemnity
of the other two.

Ethnologically the pahu is of more world-wide interest than
any other member of its class, being one of many varieties of
the kettle-drum that are to be found scattered among the
tribes of the Pacific, all of them, perhaps, harking back to
Asiatic forbears, such as the tom-tom of the Hindus.

The sound of the pahu carries one back in imagination to the
dread sacrificial drum of the Aztec teocallis and the wild
kettles of the Tartar hordes. The drum has cruel and bloody
associations. When listening to its tones one can hardly put
away a thought of the many times they have been used to drown
the screams of some agonized creature.

For more purely local interest, inventive originality, and
simplicity, the round-bellied ipu takes the palm, a
contrivance of strictly Hawaiian, or at least Polynesian,
ingenuity. It is an instrument of fascinating interest, and
when its crisp rind puts forth its volume of sound one finds
his imagination winging itself back to the mysterious caverns
of Hawaiian mythology.

The gourd, of which the ipu is made, is a clean vegetable
product of the fields and the garden, the gift of
Lono-wahine—unrecognized daughter of mother Ceres—and is
free from all cruel alliances. No bleating lamb was
sacrificed to furnish parchment for its drumhead. Its
associations are as innocent as the pipes of Pan.

4. The _ka-éke-éke_, though not drumlike in form, must be
classed as an instrument of percussion from the manner of
eliciting its note. It was a simple joint of bamboo, open at
one end, the other end being left closed with the diaphragm
provided by nature. The tone is produced by striking the
closed end of the cylinder, while held in a vertical
position, with a sharp blow against some solid, nonresonant
body, such as the matted earth floor of the old Hawaiian
[Page 144] house. In the author’s experiments with the kaékeéke an
excellent substitute was found in a bag filled with sand or
earth.

In choosing bamboo for the kaékeéke it is best to use a
variety which is thin-walled and long-jointed, like the
indigenous Hawaiian varieties, in preference to such as come
from the Orient, all of which are thick-walled and
short-jointed, and therefore less resonant than the Hawaiian.

The performer held a joint in each hand, the two being of
different sizes and lengths, thus producing tones of diverse
pitch. By making a proper selection of joints it would be
possible to obtain a set capable of producing a perfect
musical scale. The tone of the kaékeéke is of the utmost
purity and lacks only sustained force and carrying power to
be capable of the best effects.

An old Hawaiian once informed the writer that about the year
1850, in the reign of Kamehameha III, he was present at a
hula kaékeéke given in the royal palace in Honolulu. The
instrumentalists numbered six, each one of whom held two
bamboo joints. The old man became enthusiastic as he
described the effect produced by their performance, declaring
it to have been the most charming hula he ever witnessed.

5. The _úli-ulí_ (pl. XI) consisted of a small gourd of the
size of one’s two fists, into which were introduced shotlike
seeds, such as those of the canna. In character it was a
rattle, a noise-instrument pure and simple, but of a tone by
no means disagreeable to the ear, even as the note produced
by a woodpecker drumming on a log is not without its
pleasurable effect on the imagination.

The illustration of the úliulí faithfully pictured by the
artist reproduces a specimen that retains the original
simplicity of the instrument before the meretricious taste of
modern times tricked it out with silks and feathers. (For a
further description of this instrument, see p. 107.)

6. The _pu-íli_ was also a variety of the rattle, made by
splitting a long joint of bamboo for half its length into
slivers, every alternate sliver being removed to give the
remaining ones greater freedom and to make their play the one
upon the other more lively. The tone is a murmurous breezy
rustle that resembles the notes of twigs, leaves, or reeds
struck against one another by the wind—not at all an
unworthy imitation of nature-tones familiar to the Hawaiian
ear.

The performers sat in two rows facing each other, a position
that favored mutual action, in which each row of actors
struck their instruments against those of the other side, or
tossed them back and forth. (For further account of the
manner in which the puili was used in the hula of the same
name, see p. 113.)

7. The _laau_ was one of the noise-instruments used in the
hula. It consisted of two sticks of hard resonant wood, the
[Page 145] smaller of which was struck against the larger, producing a
clear xylophonic note. While the pitch of this instrument is
capable of exact determination, it does not seem that there
was any attempt made at adjustment. A laau in the author’s
collection, when struck, emits tones the predominant one of
which is d̅ (below the staff).

8. The _ohe_, or _ohe-hano-ihu_ (fig. 3), is an instrument of
undoubted antiquity. In every instance that has come under
the author’s observation the material has been, as its
name—_ohe_—signifies, a simple joint of bamboo, with an
embouchure placed about half an inch from the closed end,
thus enabling the player to supply the instrument with air
from his right nostril. In every nose-flute examined there
have been two holes, one 2 or 3 inches away from the
embouchure, the older about a third of the distance from the
open end of the flute.

The musician with his left hand holds the end of the pipe
squarely against his lip, so that the right nostril slightly
overlaps the edge of the embouchure. The breath is projected
into the embouchure with modulated force. A nose-flute in the
author’s collection with the lower hole open produces the
sound of [=f]♯; with both holes unstopped it emits the sound
[==a]; and when both holes are stopped it produces the sound
of c̿♯, a series of notes which are the tonic, mediant,
and dominant of the chord of F♯ minor.

An ohe played by an old Hawaiian named Keaonaloa, an inmate
of the Lunalilo Home, when both holes were stopped sounded
[=f]; with the lower hole open it sounded [==a], and when
both holes were open it sounded [===c].

The music made by Keaonaloa with his ohe was curious, but not
soul-filling. We must bear in mind, however, that it was
intended only as an accompaniment to a poetical recitation.

Some fifty or sixty years ago it was not uncommon to see
bamboo flutes of native manufacture in the hands of Hawaiian
musicians of the younger generation. These instruments were
avowedly imitations of the D-flute imported from abroad. The
idea of using bamboo for this purpose must have been
suggested by its previous use in the nose-flute.

“The tonal capacity of the Hawaiian nose-flute,” says Miss
Jennie Elsner, “which has nothing harsh and strident about
it, embraces five tones, [=f] and [==g] in the middle
[Page 146] register, and [==f], [=g], and [==a] an octave above. These
flutes are not always pitched to the same key, varying half a
tone or so.” On inquiring of the native who kindly furnished
the following illustrations, he stated that he had bored the
holes of his ohe without much measurement, trusting to his
intuitions and judgment.

I—Range of the Nose-flute

[Music]

The player began with a slow, strongly accented, rhythmical
movement, which continued to grow more and more intricate.
Rhythmical diminution continued in a most astounding manner
until a frenzied climax was reached; in other words, until
the player’s breath-capacity was exhausted.

A peculiar effect, as of several instruments being used at
the same time, was produced by the two lower tones being
thrown in wild profusion, often apparently simultaneously
with one of the upper tones. As the tempo in any one of these
increased, the rhythm was lost sight of and a peculiar
syncopated effect resulted.[306]

[Footnote 306: The writer is indebted to Miss Elsner not only
for the above comments but for the following score which she
has cleverly arranged as a sample of nose-flute music
produced by Keaonaloa.]

II—Music from the Nose-flute
Arranged by JENNIE ELSNER
[Music]

9. The _pu-á_ was a whistle-like instrument. It was made from
a gourd of the size of a lemon, and was pierced with three
holes, or sometimes only two, one for the nose, by which it
[Page 147] was blown, while the others were controlled by the fingers.
This instrument has been compared to the Italian ocarina.

10. The _íli-íli_ was a noise-instrument pure and simple. It
consisted of two pebbles that were held in the hand and
smitten together, after the manner of castanets, in time to
the music of the voices. (See p. 120.)

11. The _niau-kani_—singing splinter—was a reed-instrument
of a rude sort, made by holding a reed of thin bamboo against
a slit cut out in a larger piece of bamboo. This was applied
to the mouth, and the voice being projected against it
produced an effect similar to that of the Jew’s harp. (See p.
132.)

12. Even still more extemporaneous and rustic than any of
these is a modest contrivance called by the Hawaiians
_pú-la-í_. It is nothing more than a ribbon torn from the
green leaf of the _ti_ plant, say three-quarters of an inch
to an inch in width by 5 or 6 inches long, and rolled up
somewhat after the manner of a lamplighter, so as to form a
squat cylinder an inch or more in length. This was compressed
to flatten it. Placed between the lips and blown into with
proper force, it emits a tone of pure reedlike quality, that
varies in pitch, according to the size of the whistle, from G
in the middle register to a shrill piping note more than an
octave above.

The hula girl who showed this simple device offered it in
answer to reiterated inquiries as to what other instruments,
besides those of more formal make already described, the
Hawaiians were wont to use in connection with their informal
rustic dances. “This,” said she, “was sometimes used as an
accompaniment to such informal dancing as was indulged in
outside the halau.” This little rustic pipe, quickly
improvised from the leaf that every Hawaiian garden supplies,
would at once convert any skeptic to a belief in the pipes of
god Pan.

13. The _ukeké_, the one Hawaiian instrument of its class, is
a mere strip of wood bent into the shape of a bow that its
elastic force may keep tense the strings that are stretched
upon it. These strings, three in number, were originally of
sinnet, later after the arrival of the white man, of
horsehair. At the present time it is the fashion to use the
ordinary gut designed for the violin or the taro-patch
guitar. Every ukeké seen followed closely a conventional
pattern, which, argues for the instrument a historic age
sufficient to have gathered about itself some degree of
traditional reverence. One end of the stick is notched or
provided with holes to hold the strings, while the other end
is wrought into a conventional figure resembling the tail of
a fish and serves as an attachment about which to wind the
free ends of the strings.

No ukeké seen by the author was furnished with pins, pegs, or
any similar device to facilitate tuning. Nevertheless, the
[Page 148] musician does tune his ukeké, as the writer can testify from
his own observation. This Hawaiian musician was the one whose
performances on the nose-flute are elsewhere spoken of. When
asked to give a sample of his playing on the ukeké, he first
gave heed to his instrument as if testing whether it was in
tune. He was evidently dissatisfied and pulled at one string
as if to loosen it; then, pressing one end of the bow against
his lips, he talked to it in a singing tone, at the same time
plucking the strings with a delicate rib of grass. The effect
was most pleasing. The open cavity of the mouth, acting as a
resonator, reenforced the sounds and gave them a volume and
dignity that was a revelation. The lifeless strings allied
themselves to a human voice and became animated by a living
soul.

With the assistance of a musical friend it was found that the
old Hawaiian tuned his strings with approximate correctness
to the tonic, the third and the fifth. We may surmise that
this self-trained musician had instinctively followed the
principle or rule proposed by Aristoxenus, who directed a
singer to sing his most convenient note, and then, taking
this as a starting point, to tune the remainder of his
strings—the Greek kithara, no doubt—in the usual manner
from this one.

While the ukeké was used to accompany the mele and the oli,
its chief employment was in serenading and serving the young
folk in breathing their extemporized songs and uttering their
love-talk—_hoipoipo_. By using a peculiar lingo or secret
talk of their own invention, two lovers could hold private
conversation in public and pour their loves and longings into
each other’s ears without fear of detection—a thing most
reprehensible in savages. This display of ingenuity has been
the occasion for outpouring many vials of wrath upon the
sinful ukeké.

Experiment with the ukeké impresses one with the wonderful
change in the tone of the instrument that takes place when
its lifeless strings are brought into close relation with the
cavity of the mouth. Let anyone having normal organs of
speech contract his lips into the shape of an O, make his
cheeks tense, and then, with the pulp of his finger as a
plectrum, slap the center of his cheek and mark the tone that
is produced. Practice will soon enable him to render a full
octave with fair accuracy and to perform a simple melody that
shall be recognizable at a short distance. The power and
range thus acquired will, of course, be limited by the skill
of the operator. One secret of the performance lies in a
proper management of the tongue. This function of the mouth
[Page 149] familiarly illustrated in the jew’s-harp. The author is again
indebted to Miss Elsner for the following comments on the
ukeké:

“The strings of this ukeké, the Hawaiian fiddle, are tuned to
e̅; to b̅ and to d̅. These three strings are struck
nearly simultaneously, but the sound being very feeble, it is
only the first which, receiving the sharp impact of the blow,
gives out enough volume to make a decided impression.”

III—The Ukeké (as played by Keaonaloa)
Arranged by JENNIE ELSNER
[Music]

The early visitors to these islands, as a rule, either held
the music of the savages in contempt or they were unqualified
to report on its character and to make record of it.

We know that in ancient times the voices of the men as well
as of the women were heard at the same time in the songs of
the hula. One of the first questions that naturally arises
is, Did the men and the women sing in parts or merely in
unison?

It is highly gratifying to find clear historical testimony on
this point from a competent authority. The quotation that
follows is from the pen of Capt. James King, who was with
Capt. James Cook on the latter’s last voyage, in which he
discovered the Hawaiian islands (January 18, 1778). The words
were evidently penned after the death of Captain Cook, when
the writer of them, it is inferred, must have succeeded to
the command of the expedition. The fact that Captain King
weighs his words, as evidenced in the footnote, and that he
appreciates the bearing and significance of his testimony,
added to the fact that he was a man of distinguished
learning, gives unusual weight to his statements. The subject
is one of so great interest and importance, that the whole
passage is here quoted.[307] It adds not a little to its value
that the writer thereof did not confine his remarks to the
music, but enters into a general description of the hula. The
only regret is that he did not go still further into details.

[Footnote 307: Italics used are those of the present author.]

Their dances have a much nearer resemblance to those of the
New Zealanders than of the Otaheitians or Friendly Islanders.
They are prefaced with a slow, solemn song, in which all the
party join, moving their legs, and gently striking their
breasts in a manner and with attitudes that are perfectly
easy and graceful; and so far they are the same with the
dances of the Society Islands. When this has lasted about ten
minutes, both the tune and the motions gradually quicken, and
[Page 150] end only by their inability to support the fatigue, which
part of the performance is the exact counterpart of that of
the New Zealanders; and (as it is among them) the person who
uses the most violent action and holds out the longest is
applauded as the best dancer. It is to be observed that in
this dance the women only took part and that the dancing of
the men is nearly of the same kind with what we saw at the
Friendly Islands; and which may, perhaps, with more
propriety, be called the accompaniment of the songs, with
corresponding and graceful motions of the whole body. Yet as
we were spectators of boxing exhibitions of the same kind
with those we were entertained with at the Friendly Islands,
it is probable that they had likewise their grand ceremonious
dances, in which numbers of both sexes assisted.

Their music is also of a ruder kind, having neither flutes
nor reeds, nor instruments of any other sort, that we saw,
except drums of various sizes. But their songs, _which they
sing in parts_, and accompany with a gentle motion of the
arms, in the same manner as the Friendly Islanders, had a
very pleasing effect.

To the above Captain King adds this footnote:

As this circumstance of their _singing in parts_ has been
much doubted by persons eminently skilled in music, and would
be exceedingly curious if it was clearly ascertained, it is
to be lamented that it can not be more positively
authenticated.

Captain Burney and Captain Phillips of the Marines, who have
both a tolerable knowledge of music, have given it as their
opinion they did sing in parts; that is to say, that they
sang together in different notes, which formed a pleasing
harmony.

These gentlemen have fully testified that the Friendly
Islanders undoubtedly studied their performances before they
were exhibited in public; that they had an idea of different
notes being useful in harmony; and also that they rehearsed
their compositions in private and threw out the inferior
voices before they ventured to appear before those who were
supposed to be judges of their skill in music.

In their regular concerts each man had a bamboo[308] which was
of a different length and gave a different tone. These they
beat against the ground, and each performer, assisted by the
note given by this instrument, repeated the same note,
accompanying it with words, by which means it was rendered
sometimes short and sometimes long. In this manner they sang
in chorus, and not only produced octaves to each other,
according to their species of voice, but fell on concords
such as were not disagreeable to the ear.

[Footnote 308: These bamboos were, no doubt, the same as the
_kaékeéke_, elsewhere described. (See P. 122.)]

Now, to overturn this fact, by the reasoning of persons who
did not hear these performances, is rather an arduous task.
And yet there is great improbability that any uncivilized
people should by accident arrive at this perfection in the
art of music, which we imagine can only be attained by dint
of study and knowledge of the system and the theory on which
musical composition is founded. Such miserable jargon as our
country psalm-singers practice, which may be justly deemed
the lowest class of counterpoint, or singing in several
parts, can not be acquired in the coarse manner in which it
is performed in the churches without considerable time and
practice. It is, therefore, scarcely credible that a people,
semibarbarous, should naturally arrive at any perfection in
that art which it is much doubted whether the Greeks and
Romans, with all their refinements in music, ever attained,
and which the Chinese, who have been longer civilized than
any people on the globe, have not yet found out.
[Page 151]
If Captain Burney (who, by the testimony of his father,
perhaps the greatest musical theorist of this or any other
age, was able to have done it) has written down in European
notes the concords that these people sung, and if these
concords had been such as European ears could tolerate, there
would have been no longer doubt of the fact; but, as it is,
it would, in my opinion, be a rash judgment to venture to
affirm that they did or did not understand counterpoint; and
therefore I fear that this curious matter must be considered
as still remaining undecided. (A Voyage to the Pacific Ocean,
undertaken by the command of His Majesty, for making
discoveries in the Northern Hemisphere. Performed under the
direction of Captains Cook, Clerke, and Gore, in His
Majesty’s ships the Resolution and Discovery, in the years
1776, 1777, 1778, and 1780, 3 volumes, London, 1784, III, 2d
ed., 142, 143, 144.)

While we can not but regret that Captain King did not go into
detail and inform us specifically what were the concords
those old-time people “fell on,” whether their songs were in
the major or minor key, and many other points of information,
he has, nevertheless, put science under obligations to him by
his clear and unmistakable testimony to the fact that they
did arrange their music in parts. His testimony is decisive:
“In this manner they sang in chorus, and not only produced
octaves to each other, according to their species of voice,
but fell on concords such as were not disagreeable to the
ear.” When the learned doctor argues that to overturn this
fact would be an arduous task, we have to agree with him—an
arduous task indeed. He well knew that one proven fact can
overthrow a thousand improbabilities. “What man has done man
can do” is a true saying; but it does not thence follow that
what man has not done man can not do.

If the contention were that the Hawaiians understood
counterpoint as a science and a theory, the author would
unhesitatingly admit the improbability with a readiness akin
to that with which he would admit the improbability that the
wild Australian understood the theory of the boomerang. But
that a musical people, accustomed to pitch their voices to
the clear and unmistakable notes of bamboo pipes cut to
various lengths, a people whose posterity one generation
later appropriated the diatonic scale as their own with the
greatest avidity and readiness, that this people should
recognize the natural harmonies of sound, when they had
chanced upon them, and should imitate them in their
songs—the improbability of this the author fails to see.

The clear and explicit statement of Captain King leaves
little to be desired so far as this sort of evidence can go.
There are, however, other lines of inquiry that must be
developed:

1. The testimony of the Hawaiians themselves on this matter.
This is vague. No one of whom inquiry has been made is able
to affirm positively the existence of part-singing in the
olden times. Most of those with whom the writer has talked
are inclined to the view that the ancient cantillation was
not in any sense part-singing as now practised. One must not,
[Page 152] however, rely too much on such testimony as this, which at
the best is only negative. In many cases it is evident the
witnesses do not understand the true meaning and bearing of
the question. The Hawaiians have no word or expression
synonymous with our expression “musical chord.” In all
inquiries the writer has found it necessary to use
periphrasis or to appeal to some illustration. The fact must
be borne in mind, however, that people often do a thing, or
possess a thing, for which they have no name.

2. As to the practice among Hawaiians at the present time, no
satisfactory proof has been found of the existence of any
case in which in the cantillations of their own songs the
Hawaiians—those uninfluenced by foreign music—have given an
illustration of what can properly be termed part-singing; nor
can anyone be found who can testify affirmatively to the same
effect. Search for it has thus far been as fruitless as
pursuit of the will-o’-the-wisp.

3. The light that is thrown on this question by the study of
the old Hawaiian musical instruments is singularly
inconclusive. If it were possible, for instance, to bring
together a complete set of kaekeeke bamboos which were
positively known to have been used together at one
performance, the argument from the fact of their forming a
musical harmony, if such were found to be the case—or, on
the other hand, of their producing only a haphazard series of
unrelated sounds, if such were the fact—would bring to the
decision of the question the overwhelming force of indirect
evidence. But such an assortment the author has not been able
to find. Bamboo is a frail and perishable material. Of the
two specimens of kaekeeke tubes found by him in the Bernice
Pauahi Bishop Museum one was cracked and voiceless; and so
the testimony of its surviving partner was of no avail.

The Hawaiians of the present day are so keenly alive to
musical harmony that it is hardly conceivable that their
ancestors two or three generations ago perpetrated discords
in their music. They must either have sung in unison or hit
on “concords such as were not disagreeable to the ear.” If
the music heard in the halau to-day in any close degree
resembles that of ancient times—it must be assumed that it
does—no male voice of ordinary range need have found any
difficulty in sounding the notes, nor do they scale so low
that a female voice would not easily reach them.

Granting, then, as we must, the accuracy of Captain King’s
statement, the conclusion to which the author of this paper
feels forced is that since the time of the learned doctor’s
visit to these shores, more than one hundred and twenty-eight
years ago, the art and practice of singing or cantillating
after the old fashion has declined among the Hawaiians. The
hula of the old times, in spite of all the efforts to
[Page 153] maintain it, is becoming more and more difficult of
procurement every day. Almost none of the singing that one
hears at the so-called hula performances gotten up for the
delectation of sightseers is Hawaiian music of the old sort.
It belongs rather to the second or third rattoon-crop, which,
has sprung up under the influence of foreign stimuli. Take
the published hula songs, such as “_Tomitomi_,” “_Wahine
Poupou_” and a dozen others that might be mentioned, to say
nothing about the words—the music is no more related to the
genuine Hawaiian article of the old times than is “ragtime”
to a Gregorian chant.

The bare score of a hula song, stripped of all embellishments
and reduced by the logic of our musical science to the merest
skeleton of notes, certainly makes a poor showing and gives
but a feeble notion of the song itself—its rhythm, its
multitudinous grace-notes, its weird tone-color. The notes
given below offer such a skeletal presentation of a song
which the author heard cantillated by a skilled hula-master.
They were taken down at the author’s request by Capt. H.
Berger, conductor of the Royal Hawaiian Band:

IV—Song from the Hula Pa’i-umauma
Arranged by H. BERGER
[Music]

The same comment may be made on the specimen next to be given
as on the previous one: there is an entire omission of the
trills and flourishes with which the singer garlanded his
scaffolding of song, and which testified of his adhesion to
the fashion of his ancestors, the fashion according to which
songs have been sung, prayers recited, brave deeds celebrated
since the time when Kane and Pele and the other gods dipped
paddle for the first time into Hawaiian waters.
Unfortunately, in this as in the previous piece and as in the
one next to be given, the singer escaped the author before he
was able to catch the words.

V—Song from the Hula Pa-ipu
Arranged by H. BERGER
[Music]
[Page 154]

Here, again, is a piece of song that to the author’s ear
bears much the same resemblance to the original that an oiled
ocean in calm would bear to the same ocean when stirred by a
breeze. The fine dimples which gave the ocean its
diamond-flash have been wiped out.

VI—Song for the Hula Pele
Arranged by H. BERGER
[Music]

Is it our ear that is at fault? Is it not rather our science
of musical notation, in not reproducing the fractions of
steps, the enharmonics that are native to the note-carving
ear of the Chinaman, and that are perhaps essential to the
perfect scoring of an oli or mele as sung by a Hawaiian?

None of the illustrations thus far given have caught that
fluctuating trilling movement of the voice which most
musicians interviewed on the subject declare to be impossible
of representation, while some flout the assertion that it
represents a change of pitch. One is reminded by this of a
remark made by Pietro Mascagni:[309]

[Footnote 309: The Evolution of Music from the Italian
Standpoint, _in_ the Century Library of Music, XVI, 521.]

“The feeling that a people displays in its character, its
habits, its nature, and thus creates an overprivileged type
of music, may be apprehended by a foreign spirit which has
become accustomed to the usages and expressions common from
that particular people. But popular music, [being] void of
any scientific basis, will always remain incomprehensible to
the foreigner who seeks to study it technically.”

When we consider that the Chinese find pleasure in musical
performances on instruments that divide the scale into
intervals less than half a step, and that the Arabian musical
scale included quarter-steps, we shall be obliged to admit
that this statement of Mascagni is not merely a fling at our
musical science.

Here are introduced the words and notes of a musical
recitation done after the manner of the hula by a Hawaiian
professional and his wife. Acquaintance with the Hawaiian
language and a feeling for the allusions connoted in the text
of the song would, of course, be a great aid in enabling one
to enter into the spirit of the performance. As these
[Page 155] adjuncts will be available to only a very few of those who
will read these words, in the beginning are given the words
of the oli with which he prefaced the song, with a
translation of the same, and then the mele which formed the
bulk of the song, also with a translation, together with such
notes and comments as are necessary to bring one into
intellectual and sympathetic relation with the performance,
so far as that is possible under the circumstances. It is
especially necessary to familiarize the imagination with the
language, meaning, and atmosphere of a mele, because the
Hawaiian approached song from the side of the poet and
elocutionist. Further discussion of this point must, however,
be deferred to another division of the subject:

_He Oli_

Halau[310] Hanalei i ka nini a ka ua;
Kumano[311] ke po’o-wai a ka liko;[312]
Nahá ka opi-wai[313] a a Wai-aloha;
O ke kahi koe a hiki i Wai-oli.[314]
Ua ike ’a.

[Translation.]

_A Song_

Hanalei is a hall for the dance in the pouring rain;
The stream-head is turned from its bed of fresh green;
Broken the dam that pent the water of love—
Naught now to hinder its rush to the vale of delight.
You’ve seen it.

[Footnote 310: _Halau_. The rainy valley of Hanalei, on Kauai,
is here compared to a halau, a dance-hall, apparently because
the rain-columns seem to draw together and inclose the valley
within walls, while the dark foreshortened vault of heaven
covers it as with a roof.]

[Footnote 311: _Kumano_. A water-source, or, as here, perhaps,
a sort of dam or loose stone wall that was run out into a
stream for the purpose of diverting a portion of it into a
new channel.]

[Footnote 312: _Liko_. A bud; fresh verdure; a word much used
in modern Hawaiian poetry.]

[Footnote 313: _Opiwai_. A watershed. In Hawaii a knife-edged
ridge as narrow as the back of a horse will often decide the
course of a stream, turning its direction from one to the
other side of the island.]

[Footnote 314: _Waioli_ (_wai_, water; _oli_, joyful). The name
given to a part of the valley of Hanalei, also the name of a
river.]

The mele to which the above oli was a prelude is as follows:

_Mele_

Noluna ka hale kai, e ka ma’a-lewa,
Nana ka maka ia Moana-nui-ka-Lehúa.
Noi au i ke kai e mali’o.
Ane ku a’e la he lehúa ilaila—
5 Hopoe Lehúa ki’eki’e.
Maka’u ka Lehúa i ke kanáka,
Lilo ilalo e hele ai, ilalo, e.
Keaau iliili nehe; olelo ke kai o Puna
I ka ulu hala la, e, kaiko’o Puna.
10 Ia hoone’ene’e ia pili mai kaua,
E ke hoa, ke waiho e mai la oe;
Eia ka mea ino, he anu, e.
Aohe anu e!
Me he mea la iwaho kaua, e ke hoa,
15 Me he wai la ko kaua ili, e.

[Page 156]

VII—_Oli and Mele from the Hula Ala’a-papa_
_Oli—A prelude_
Arranged by Mrs. YARNDLEY
[Music:]

[Page 157]

[Music: (_4 times r._)]

[Translation.]

_Song from the Hula Ala’a-papa_

From mountain-retreat and root-woven ladder
Mine eye looks down on goddess Moana-Lehúa.
Then I pray to the Sea, be thou calm;
Would there might stand on thy shore a lehúa—
5 Lehúa tree tall of Hopoe.
The Lehúa is fearful of man,
Leaves him to walk on the ground below,
To walk on the ground far below.
The pebbles at Keaau grind in the surf;
10 The sea at Keaau shouts to Puna’s palms,
“Fierce is the sea of Puna.”
Move hither, snug close, companion mine;
You lie so aloof over there.
Oh what a bad fellow is Cold!
15 Not cold, do you say?
It’s as if we were out in the wold,
Our bodies so clammy and chill, friend.

EXPLANATORY REMARKS

The acute or stress accent is placed over syllables that take
the accent in ordinary speech.

A word or syllable italicized indicates drum-down-beat.
[Page 158]
It will be noticed that the stress-accent and the rhythmic
accent, marked by the down-beat, very frequently do not
coincide. The time marked by the drum-down-beat was strictly
accurate throughout.

The tune was often pitched on some other key than that in
which it is here recorded. This fact was noted when, from
time to tune, it was found necessary to have the singer
repeat certain passages.