Chapter XVI: Canto II (3)

The number of measures devoted to the _i’i_, or fluctuation,
which is indicated by the wavering line ,
varied from time to time, even when the singer repeated the
same passage. (See remarks on the _i’i_ p. 140.)

Redundancies of speech (interpolations) which are in
disagreement with the present writer’s text (pp. 155–156) are
inclosed in brackets. It will be seen that in the fifth verse
he gives the version _Maka’u ke kanaka i ka lehua_ instead of
the one given by the author, which is _Maka’u ka Lehua i ke
kanaka_. Each version has its advocates, and good arguments
are made in favor of each.

On reaching the end of a measure that coincided with the
close of a rhetorical phrase the singer, Kualii, made haste
to snatch, as it were, at the first word or syllable of the
succeeding phrase. This is indicated by the word
“anticipating,” or “anticipatory”—written _anticip._—placed
over the syllable or word thus snatched.

It was somewhat puzzling to determine whether the tones which
this man sang were related to each other as five and three of
the major key, or as three and one of the minor key.
Continued and strained attention finally made it seem evident
that it was the major key which he intended, i.e., it was
f̅ and d̅ in the key of B♭,
rather than f̅ and d̅ in the key of D minor.

ELOCUTION AND RHYTHMIC ACCENT IN HAWAIIAN SONG

In their ordinary speech the Hawaiians were good
elocutionists—none better. Did they adhere to this same
system of accentuation in their poetry, or did they punctuate
their phrases and words according to the notions of the
song-maker and the conceived exigencies of poetical
composition? After hearing and studying this recitation of
Kualii the author is compelled to say that he does depart in
a great measure from the accent of common speech and charge
his words with intonations and stresses peculiar to the mele.
What artificial influence has come in to produce this
result? Is it from some demand of poetic or of musical
rhythm? Which? It was observed that he substituted the soft
sound of _t_ for the stronger sound of _k_, “because,” as he
explained, “the sound of the _t_ is lighter.” Thus he said
_te tanata_ instead of _ke kanaka_, the man. The Hawaiian ear
has always a delicate feeling for tone-color.
[Page 159]
In all our discussions and conclusions we must bear in mind
that the Hawaiian did not approach song merely for its own
sake; the song did not sing of itself. First in order came
the poem, then the rhythm of song keeping time to the rhythm
of the poetry. The Hawaiian sang not from a mere bubbling up
of indefinable emotion, but because he had something to say
for which he could find no other adequate form of expression.
The Hawaiian boy, as he walks the woods, never whistles to
keep his courage up. When he paces the dim aisles of
Kaliuwa’a, he sets up an altar and heaps on it a sacrifice of
fruit and flowers and green leaves, but he keeps as silent as
a mouse.

During his performance Kualii cantillated his song while
handling a round wooden tray in place of a drum; his wife
meanwhile performed the dance. This she did very gracefully
and in perfect time. In marking the accent the left foot was,
if anything, the favorite, yet each foot in general took two
measures; that is, the left marked the down-beat in measures
1 and 2, 5 and 6, and so on, while the right, in turn, marked
the rhythmic accent that comes with the down-beat in measures
3 and 4, 7 and 8, and so on. During the four steps taken by
the left foot, covering the time of two measures, the body
was gracefully poised on the other foot. Then a shift was
made, the position was reversed, and during two measures the
emphasis came on the right foot.

The motions of the hands, arms, and of the whole body,
including the pelvis—which has its own peculiar orbital and
sidelong swing—were in perfect sympathy one part with
another. The movements were so fascinating that one was at
first almost hypnotized and disqualified for criticism and
analytic judgment. Not to derogate from the propriety and
modesty of the woman’s motions, under the influence of her
Delsartian grace one gained new appreciation of “the charm of
woven paces and of waving hands.”

Throughout the whole performance of Kualii and his wife
Abigaila it was noticed that, while he was the reciter, she
took the part of the olapa (see p. 28) and performed the
dance; but to this rôle she added that of prompter, repeating
to him in advance the words of the next verse, which he then
took up. Her verbal memory, it was evident, was superior to
his.

Experience with Kualii and his partner, as well as with
others, emphasizes the fact that one of the great
difficulties encountered in the attempt to write out the
slender thread of music (_leo_) of a Hawaiian mele and fit to
it the words as uttered by the singer arises from the
constant interweaving of meaningless vowel sounds. This,
which the Hawaiians call _i’i_, is a phenomenon comparable to
the weaving of a vine about a framework, or to the
[Page 160] pen-flourishes that illuminate old German text. It consists
of the repetition of a vowel sound—generally _i_ (=_ee_) or
_e_ (=_a_, as in fate), or a rapid interchange of these two.
To the ear of the author the pitch varies through an interval
somewhat less than a half-step. Exactly what is the interval
he can not say. The musicians to whom appeal for aid in
determining this point has been made have either dismissed it
for the most part as a matter of little or no consequence or
have claimed the seeming variation in pitch was due simply to
a changeful stress of voice or of accent. But the author can
not admit that the report of his senses is here mistaken.

A further embarrassment comes from the fact that this
tone-embroidery found in the i’i is not a fixed quantity. It
varies seemingly with the mood of the singer, so that not
unfrequently, when one asks for the repetition of a phrase,
it will, quite likely, be given with a somewhat different
wording, calling for a readjustment of the rhythm on the part
of the musician who is recording the score. But it must be
acknowledged that the singer sticks to his rhythm, which, so
far as observed, is in common time.

In justice to the Hawaiian singer who performs the
accommodating task just mentioned it must be said that, under
the circumstances in which he is placed, it is no wonder that
at times he departs from the prearranged formula of song. His
is the difficult task of pitching his voice and maintaining
the same rhythm and tempo unaided by instrumental
accompaniment or the stimulating movements of the dance. Let
any stage-singer make the attempt to perform an aria, or even
a simple recitative, off the stage, and without the
support—real or imaginary—afforded by the wonted orchestral
accompaniment as well as the customary stage-surroundings,
and he will be apt to find himself embarrassed. The very fact
of being compelled to repeat is of itself alone enough to
disconcert almost anyone. The men and women who to-day
attempt the forlorn task of reproducing for us a hula mele or
an oli under what are to them entirely unsympathetic and
novel surroundings are, as a rule, past the prime of life,
and not unfrequently acknowledge themselves to be failing in
memory.

After making all of these allowances we must, it would seem,
make still another allowance, which regards the intrinsic
nature and purpose of Hawaiian song. It was not intended, nor
was it possible under the circumstances of the case, that a
Hawaiian song should be sung to an unvarying tempo or to the
same key; and even in the words or sounds that make up its
fringework a certain range of individual choice was allowed
or even expected of the singer. This privilege of exercising
individuality might even extend to the solid framework of the
mele or oli and not merely to the filigree, the i’i, that
enwreathed it.
[Page 161]
It would follow from this, if the author is correct, that the
musical critic of to-day must be content to generalize
somewhat and must not be put out if the key is changed on
repetition and if tempo and rhythm depart at times from their
standard gait. It is questionable if even the experts in the
palmy days of the hula attained such a degree of skill as to
be faultless and logical in these matters.

It has been said that modern music has molded and developed
itself under the influence of three causes, (1) a
comprehension of the nature of music itself, (2) a feeling or
inspiration, and (3) the influence of poetry. Guided by this
generalization, it may be said that Hawaiian poetry was the
nurse and pedagogue of that stammering infant, Hawaiian
music; that the words of the mele came before its rhythmic
utterance in song; and that the first singers were the
priests and the eulogists. Hawaiian poetry is far ahead of
Hawaiian song in the power to move the feelings. A few words
suffice the poet with which to set the picture before one’s
eyes, and one picture quickly follows another; whereas the
musical attachment remains weak and colorless, reminding one
of the nursery pictures, in which a few skeletal lines
represent the human frame.

Let us now for refreshment and in continued pursuit of our
subject listen to a song in the language and spirit of
old-time Hawaii, composed, however, in the middle of the
nineteenth century. It is given as arranged by Miss Lillian
Byington, who took it down as she heard it sung by an old
Hawaiian woman in the train of Queen Liliuokalani, and as the
author has since heard it sung by Miss Byington’s pupils of
the Kamehameha School for Girls. The song has been slightly
idealized, perhaps, by trimming away some of the superfluous
i’i, but not more than is necessary to make it highly
acceptable to our ears and not so much as to take from it the
plaintive bewitching tone that pervades the folk-music of
Hawaii. The song, the mele, is not in itself much—a hint, a
sketch, a sweep of the brush, a lilt of the imagination, a
connotation of multiple images which no jugglery of literary
art can transfer into any foreign speech. Its charm, like
that of all folk-songs and of all romance, lies in its
mysterious tug at the heartstrings.
[Page 162]

VIII—He Inoa no Kamehameha
(Old Mele—Kindness of H.R.H. Liliuokalani)
Arranged by LILLIAN BYINGTON
[Music:]

_He Inoa no Kamehameha_

Aia i Waipi’o[315] Paka’alana,[316]
Paepae[317] kapu ia o Liloa.[318]
He aloha ka wahine pi’i ka pali,[319]
Puili ana i ka hua ulei,
5 I ka ai mo’a i ka lau laau.[320]
Hoolaau[321] mai o ka welowelo.
Ua pe’e pa Kai-a-ulu o Waimea,[322]
Ua ola i ku’u kai,[323] Keoloewa,[324] e.

[Footnote 315: _Waipi’o_. A deep valley on the windward side of
Hawaii.]

[Footnote 316: _Paka’alana_. A temple and the residence of King
Liloa in Waipi’o.]

[Footnote 317: _Paepae_. The doorsill (of this temple), always
an object of superstitious regard, but especially so in the
case of this temple. Here it stands for the whole temple.]

[Footnote 318: _Liloa_. A famous king of Hawaii who had his
seat in Waipi’o.]

[Footnote 319: _Wahine pii ka pali_, Haina-kolo, a mythical
character, is probably the one alluded to. She married a king
of Kukulu o Kahiki, and, being deserted by him, swam back to
Hawaii. Arrived at Waipi’o in a famishing state, she climbed
the heights and ate of the _ulei_ berries without first
propitiating the local deity with a sacrifice. As an
infliction of the offended deity, she became distraught and
wandered away into the wilderness. Her husband repented of
his neglect and after long search found her. Under kind
treatment she regained her reason and the family was happily
reunited.]

[Footnote 320: _Lau laau_. Leaves of plants.]

[Footnote 321: _Hoolaau_. The last part of this word, _laau_,
taken in connection with the last word of the previous verse,
form a capital instance of word repetition. This was an
artifice much used in Hawaiian poetry, both as a means of
imparting tone-color and for the punning wit it was supposed
to exhibit.]

[Footnote 322: _Ua pe’e pa Kai-a-ulu o Waimea_. _Kai-a-ulu_ is
a fierce rain-squall such as arises suddenly in the uplands
of Waimea, Hawaii. The traveler, to protect himself, crouches
(_pe’e_) behind a hummock of grass, or builds up in all haste
a barricade (_pa_) of light stuff as a partial shelter
against the oncoming storm.]

[Footnote 323: _Kai_. Taken in connection with _Kai-a-ulu_ in
the preceding verse, this is another instance of verse
repetition. This word, the primary meaning of which is sea,
or ocean, is used figuratively to represent a source of
comfort or life.]

[Footnote 324: _Keoloewa_. The name of one of the old gods
belonging to the class called _akua noho_, a class of deities
that were sent by the necromancers on errands of demoniacal
possession.]
[Page 163]

[Translation.]

_A Name-song of Kamehameha_

In Waipi’o stands Paka’alana,
The sacred shrine of Liloa.
Love to the woman climbing the steep,
Who gathered the ulei berries,
5 Who ate of the uncooked herbs of the wild, 5
Craving the swaying fruit like a hungry child.
A covert I found from the storm,
Life in my sea of delight.

The text of this mele—said to be a name-song of Kamehameha
V—as first secured had undergone some corruption which
obscured the meaning. By calling to his aid an old Hawaiian
in whose memory the song had long been stored the author was
able to correct it. Hawaiian authorities are at variance as
to its meaning. One party reads in it an exclusive allusion
to characters that have flitted across the stage within the
memory of people now living, while another, taking a more
romantic and traditional view, finds in it a reference to an
old-time myth—that of _Ke-anini-ula-o-ka-lani_—the chief
character in which was _Haina-kolo_. (See note _e_.) After
carefully considering both sides of the question it seems to
the author that, while the principle of double allusion, so
common in Hawaiian poetry, may here prevail, one is justified
in giving prominence to the historico-mythological
interpretation that is inwoven in the poem. It is a
comforting thought that adhesion to this decision will suffer
certain unstaged actions of crowned heads to remain in
charitable oblivion.

The music of this song is an admirable and faithful
interpretation of the old Hawaiian manner of cantillation,
having received at the hands of the foreign musician only so
much trimming as was necessary to idealize it and make it
reducible to our system of notation.

EXPLANATORY NOTE

_Hoaeae_.—This term calls for a quiet, sentimental style of
recitation, in which the fluctuating trill i’i, if it occurs
at all, is not made prominent. It is contrasted with the
_olioli_, in which the style is warmer and the fluctuations
of the i’i are carried to the extreme.

Thus far we have been considering the traditional indigenous
music of the land. To come now to that which has been and is
being produced in Hawaii by Hawaiians to-day, under
influences from abroad, it will not be possible to mistake
the presence in it of two strains: The foreign, showing its
hand in the lopping away of much redundant foliage, has
brought it largely within the compass of scientific and
technical expression; the native element reveals itself, now
[Page 164] in plaintive reminiscence and now in a riotous _bonhommie_, a
rollicking love of the sensuous, and in a style of delivery
and vocal technique which demands a voluptuous throatiness,
and which must be heard to be appreciated.

The foreign influence has repressed and well-nigh driven from
the field the monotonous fluctuations of the i’i, has lifted
the starveling melodies of Hawaii out of the old ruts and
enriched them with new notes, thus giving them a spring and
_élan_ that appeal alike to the cultivated ear and to the
popular taste of the day. It has, moreover, tapped the
springs of folk-song that lay hidden in the Hawaiian nature.
This same influence has also caused to germinate a Hawaiian
appreciation of harmony and has endowed its music with new
chords, the tonic and dominant, as well as with those of the
subdominant and various minor chords.

The persistence of the Hawaiian quality is, however, most
apparent in the language and imagery of the song-poetry. This
will be seen in the text of the various mele and oli now to
be given. Every musician will also note for himself the
peculiar intervals and shadings of these melodies as well as
the odd effects produced by rhythmic syncopation.

The songs must speak for themselves. The first song to be
given, though dating from no longer ago than about the sixth
decade of the last century, has already scattered its
wind-borne seed and reproduced its kind in many variants,
after the manner of other folklore. This love-lyric
represents a type, very popular in Hawaii, that has continued
to grow more and more personal and subjective in contrast
with the objective epic style of the earliest Hawaiian mele.

IX—Song, Poli Anuanu
Arranged by Mrs. YARNDLEY
_Andante cantabile_
[Music]

[Page 165]

_Poli Anuanu_

1. Aloha wale oe,
Poli anuanu;
Máeéle au
I ke ánu, e.

2. He anu e ka ua,
He anu e ka wai,
Li’a kuu ili
I ke anu, e.

3. Ina paha,
Ooe a owau
Ka i pu-kukú’i,
I ke anu, e.

He who would translate this love-lyric for the ear as well as
for the mind finds himself handicapped by the limitations of
our English speech—its scant supply of those orotund vowel
sounds which flow forth with their full freight of breath in
such words as _a-ló-ha_, _pó-li_, and _á-nu-á-nu_. These
vocables belong to the very genius of the Hawaiian tongue.

[Translation.]

_Cold Breast_

1. Love fain compels to greet thee,
Breast so cold, so cold.
Chilled, benumbed am I
With the pinching cold.

2. How bitter cold the rainfall,
Bitter cold the stream,
Body all a-shiver,
From the pinching cold.

3. Pray, what think you?
What if you and I
Should our arms enfold,
Just to keep off the cold?

The song next given, dating from a period only a few years
subsequent, is of the same class and general character as
Poli Anuanu. Both words and music are peculiarly Hawaiian,
though one may easily detect the foreign influence that
presided over the shaping of the melody.
[Page 166]

X—Song, Hua-hua’i
Arranged by Mrs. YARNDLEY
Moderato
[Music:]

_Huahua’i_

He aloha wau ia oe,
I kau hana, hana pono;
La’i ai ke kaunu me ia la,
Hoapaapa i ke kino.

_Chorus_:

Kaua i ka huahua’i,
E uhene la’i pili koolua,
Pu-kuku’i aku i ke koekoe,
Anu lipo i ka palai.

[Page 167]

[Translation.]

_Outburst_

O my love goes out to thee,
For thy goodness and thy kindness.
Fancy kindles at that other,
Stirs, with her arts, my blood.

_Chorus:_

You and I, then, for an outburst!
Sing the joy of love’s encounter,
Join arms against the invading damp,
Deep chill of embowering ferns.

The following is given, not for its poetical value and
significance, but rather as an example of a song which the
trained Hawaiian singer delights to roll out with an unctuous
gusto that bids defiance to all description:

XI—Song, Ka Mawae
By permission of the Hawaiian News Co., of Honolulu
Arranged by H. BERGER
[Music:]

NOTE.—The music to which this hula song is set was produced
by a member of the Hawaiian Band, Mr. Solomon A. Hiram, and
arranged by Capt. H. Berger, to whom the author is indebted
for permission to use it.

_Ka Mawae_

A e ho’i ke aloha i ka mawae,
I ke Kawelu-holu, Papi’ohúli.[325]

Huli mai kou alo, ua anu wau,
Ua pulu i ka ua, malule o-luna.

[Footnote 325: _Papi’o-huli_. A slope in the western
valley-side at the head of Nuuanu, where the tall grass
(_kawelu_) waves (_holu_) in the wind.]

[Page 168]

[Translation.]

_The Refuge_

Return, O love, to the refuge,
The wind-tossed covert of Papi’ohúli.

Face now to my face; I’m smitten with cold,
Soaked with the rain and benumbed.

XII—Like no a Like
By permission of the Hawaiian News Co. (Ltd.)
Arranged by H. BERGER
[Music]

_Like no a Like_

1. Ua like no a like
Me ka ua kani-lehua;
Me he la e i mai ana,
Aia ilaila ke aloha.

_Chorus_:

Ooe no ka’u i upu ai,
Ku’u lei hiki ahiahi,
O ke kani o na manu,
I na hora o ke aumoe.

2. Maanei mai kaua,
He welina pa’a i ka piko,
A nau no wau i imi mai,
A loaa i ke aheahe a ka makani.

_Chorus_.

[Page 169]

[Translation.]

_Resemblance_

1. When the rain drums loud on the leaf,
It makes me think of my love;
It whispers into my ear,
Your love, your love—she is near.

_Chorus_:

Thou art the end of my longing,
The crown of evening’s delight,
When I hear the cock blithe crowing,
In the middle watch of the night.

2. This way is the path for thee and me,
A welcome warm at the end.
I waited long for thy coming,
And found thee in waft of the breeze.

_Chorus_.

XIII—Song, Pili Aoao
By permission of the Hawaiian News Co. (Ltd.)
Arranged by H. BERGER
[Music]

NOTE.—The composer of the music and the author of the mele
was a Hawaiian named John Meha, of the Hawaiian Band, who
died some ten years ago, at the age of 40 years.

1. O ka ponaha iho a ke ao.
Ka pipi’o malie maluna,
Ike oe i ka hana, mikiala,
Nowelo i ka pili aoao.

_Chorus_:

Maikai ke aloha a ka ipo—
Hana mao ole i ka puuwai,
Houhou liilii i ka poli—
Nowelo i ka pili aoao.

2. A mau ka pili’na olu pono;
Huli a’e, hooheno malie,
Hanu liilii nahenahe,
Nowelo i ka pili aoao.

_Chorus_.

[Page 170]

The author of the mele was a Hawaiian named John Meha, who
died some years ago. He was for many years a member of the
Hawaiian Band and set the words to the music given below,
which has since been arranged by Captain Berger.

[Translation.]

_Side by Side_

1. Outspreads now the dawn,
Arching itself on high—
But look! a wondrous thing,
A thrill at touch of the side.

_Chorus_:

Most dear to the soul is a love-touch;
Its pulse stirs ever the heart
And gently throbs in the breast—
At thrill from the touch of the side.

2. In time awakes a new charm
As you turn and gently caress;
Short comes, the breath—at
The thrill from the touch of the side.

_Chorus_.

The fragments of Hawaiian music that have drifted down to us
no doubt remain true to the ancient type, however much they
may have changed in quality. They show the characteristics
that stamp all primitive music—plaintiveness to the degree
almost of sadness, monotony, lack of acquaintance with the
full range of intervals that make up our diatonic scale, and
therefore a measurable absence of that ear-charm we call
melody. These are among its deficiencies.

If, on the other hand, we set down the positive qualities by
the possession of which it makes good its claim to be classed
as music, we shall find that it has a firm hold on rhythm.
This is indeed one of the special excellencies of Hawaiian
music. Added to this, we find that it makes a limited use of
such-intervals as the third, fifth, fourth, and at the same
time resorts extravagantly, as if in compensation, to a fine
tone-carving that divides up the tone-interval into fractions
so much less than the semitone that our ears are almost
indifferent to them, and are at first inclined to deny their
existence. This minute division of the tone, or step, and
neglect at the same time of the broader harmonic intervals,
reminds one of work in which the artist charges his picture
with unimportant detail, while failing in attention to the
strong outlines. Among its merits we must not forget to
mention a certain quality of tone-color which inheres in the
Hawaiian tongue and which greatly tends to the enhancement of
Hawaiian music, especially when thrown into rhythmic forms.

The first thing, then, to repeat, that will strike the
auditor on listening to this primitive music will be its lack
of melody. The voice goes wavering and lilting along like a
canoe on a rippling ocean.

[Page 171]
Then, of a sudden, it swells upward, as if lifted by some
wave of emotion; and there for a time it travels with the
same fluctuating movement, soon descending to its old
monotone, until again moved to rise on the breast of some
fresh impulse. The intervals sounded may be, as already said,
a third, or a fifth, or a fourth; but the whole movement
leads nowhere; it is an unfinished sentence. Yet, in spite of
all these drawbacks and of this childish immaturity, the
amateur and enthusiast finds himself charmed and held as if
in the clutch of some Old-World spell, and this at what
others will call the dreary and monotonous intoning of the
savage.

In matters that concern the emotions it is rarely possible to
trace with certainty the lines that lead up from effect to
cause. Such is the nature of art. If we would touch the cause
which lends attractiveness to Hawaiian music, we must look
elsewhere than to melody. In the belief of the author the
two elements that conspire for this end are rhythm and
tone-color, which comes of a delicate feeling for
vowel-values.

The hall-mark of Hawaiian music is rhythm, for the Hawaiians
belong to that class of people who can not move hand or foot
or perform any action except they do it rhythmically. Not
alone in poetry and music and the dance do we find this
recurring accent of pleasure, but in every action of life it
seems to enter as a timekeeper and regulator, whether it be
the movement of a fingerful of poi to the mouth or the swing
of a _kahili_ through the incense-laden air at the burial of
a chief.

The typical Hawaiian rhythm is a measure of four beats,
varied at times by a 2–rhythm, or changed by syncopation into
a 3–rhythm.

These people have an emotional susceptibility and a sympathy
with environment that belongs to the artistic temperament;
but their feelings, though easily stirred, are not persistent
and ideally centered; they readily wander away from any
example or pattern. In this way may be explained their
inclination to lapse from their own standard of rhythm into
inexplicable syncopations.

As an instance of sympathy with environment, an experience
with a hula dancer may be mentioned. Wishing to observe the
movement of the dance in time with the singing of the mele,
the author asked him to perform the two at one time. He made
the attempt, but failed. At length, bethinking himself, he
drew off his coat and bound it about his loins after the
fashion of a pa-ú, such as is worn by hula dancers. He at
once caught inspiration, and was thus enabled to perform the
double rôle of dancer and singer.

It has been often remarked by musical teachers who have had
experience with these islanders that as singers they are
prone to flat the tone and to drag the time, yet under the
stimulus of emotion they show the ability to acquit
themselves in these respects with great credit. The native
[Page 172] inertia of their being demands the spur of excitement to keep
them up to the mark. While human nature everywhere shares in
this weakness, the tendency seems to be greater in the
Hawaiian than in some other races of no higher intellectual
and esthetic advancement.

Another quality of the Hawaiian character which reenforces
this tendency is their spirit of communal sympathy. That is
but another way of saying that they need the stimulus of the
crowd, as well as of the occasion, even to make them keep
step to the rhythm of their own music. In all of these points
they are but an epitome of humanity.

Before closing this special subject, the treatment of which
has grown to an unexpected length, the author feels
constrained to add one more illustration of Hawaii’s musical
productions. The Hawaiian national hymn on its poetical side
may be called the last appeal of royalty to the nation’s
feeling of race-pride. The music, though by a foreigner, is
well suited to the words and is colored by the environment in
which the composer has spent the best years of his life. The
whole production seems well fitted to serve as the clarion of
a people that need every help which art and imagination can
offer.

XIV—Hawaii Ponoí
Words by King KALAKAUA
Composed by H. BERGER
[Music:]

[Page 173]

[Page 174]

_HAWAI’I PONOI_

1. Hawai’i ponoi,
Nana i kou Moi,
Ka lani Ali’i,
Ke Ali’i.

_Refrain_:

Makua lani, e,
Kamehameha, e,
Na kaua e pale,
Me ka ihe.

2. Hawai’i ponoi,
Nana i na ’li’i,
Na pua muli kou,
Na poki’i.

_Refrain_:

3. Hawai’i ponoi
E ka lahui, e,
O kau hana nui
E ui, e.

_Refrain_.

[Page 175]

[Translation.]

_Hawaii Ponoi_

1. Hawaii’s very own,
Look to your sovran Lord,
Your chief that’s heaven-born,
Who is your King.

_Refrain_:

Protector, heaven-sent,
Kamehameha great,
To vanquish every foe,
With conquering spear.

2. Men of Hawaii’s land,
Look to your native chiefs,
Your sole surviving lords,
The nation’s pride.

_Refrain_:

3. Men of Hawaiian stock,
My nation ever dear,
With loins begirt for work,
Strive with your might.

_Refrain_.
[Page 176]

XXII.—GESTURE

Gesture is a voiceless speech, a short-hand dramatic picture.
The Hawaiians were adepts in this sort of art. Hand and foot,
face and eye, and those convolutions of gray matter which are
linked to the organs of speech, all worked in such harmony
that, when the man spoke, he spoke not alone with his vocal
organs, but all over, from head to foot, every part adding
its emphasis to the utterance. Von Moltke could be reticent
in six languages; the Hawaiian found it impossible to be
reticent in one.

The hands of the hula dancer are ever going out in gesture,
her body swaying and pivoting itself in attitudes of
expression. Her whole physique is a living and moving picture
of feeling, sentiment, and passion. If the range of thought
is not always deep or high, it is not the fault of her art,
but the limitations of her original endowment, limitations of
hereditary environment, the universal limitations imposed on
the translation from spirit into matter.

The art of gesture was one of the most important branches
taught by the kumu. When the hula expert, the _olohe_, who
has entered the halau as a visitor, utters the prayer (p.
47), “O Laka, give grace to the feet of Pohaku, and to her
bracelets and anklets; give comeliness to the figure and
skirt of Luukia. To each one give gesture and voice. O Laka,
make beautiful the _lei_; inspire the dancers to stand before
the assembly,” his meaning was clear and unmistakable, and
showed his high valuation of this method of expression. We
are not, however, to suppose that the kumu-hula, whatever his
artistic attainments, followed any set of formulated
doctrines in his teaching. His science was implicit,
unformulated, still enfolded in the silence of
unconsciousness, wrapped like a babe in its mother’s womb. To
apply a scientific name to his method, it might be called
inductive, for he led his pupils along the plain road of
practical illustration, adding example to example, without
the confusing aid of preliminary rule or abstract
proposition, until his pupils had traveled over the whole
ground covered by his own experience.

Each teacher went according to the light that was in him, not
forgetting the instructions of his own kumu, but using them
as a starting point, a basis on which to build as best he
knew. There were no books, no manuals of instruction, to pass
from hand to hand and thus secure uniformity of instruction.
Then, again, it was a long journey from Hawaii to Kauai, or
[Page 177] even from one island to another. The different islands, as a
rule, were not harnessed to one another under the same
political yoke; even districts of the same island were not
unfrequently under the independent sway of warring chiefs; so
that for long periods the separation, even the isolation, in
matters of dramatic art and practice was as complete as in
politics.

The method pursued by the kumu may be summarized as follows:
Having labored to fix the song, the mele or oli, in the minds
of his pupils, the _haumana_, he appointed some one to recite
the words of the piece, while the class, standing with close
attention to the motions of the kumu and with ears open at
the same time to the words of the leader, were required to
repeat the kumu’s gestures in pantomime until he judged them
to have arrived at a sufficient degree of perfection. That
done, the class took up the double task of recitation joined
to that of gesture. In his attempt to translate his concepts
into physical signs the Hawaiian was favored not only by his
vivid power of imagination, but by his implicit philosophy,
for the Hawaiian looked at things from a physical plane—a
safe ground to stand upon—albeit he had glimpses at times
far into the depths of ether. When he talked about spirit, he
still had in mind a form of matter. A god was to him but an
amplified human being.

It is not the purpose to attempt a scientific classification
of gesture as displayed in the halau. The most that can be
done will be to give a few familiar generic illustrations
which are typical and representative of a large class.

The _pali_, the precipice, stands for any difficulty or
obstacle of magnitude. The Hawaiian represents this in his
dramatic, pictorial manner with the hand vertically posed on
the outstretched arm, the palm of the hand looking away. If
it is desired to represent this wall of obstacle as being
surmounted, the hand is pushed forward, and at the same time
somewhat inclined, perhaps, from its rigid perpendicularity,
the action being accompanied by a series of slight lifting or
waving movements as of climbing.

Another way of dramatically picturing this same concept, that
of the pali as a wall of obstacle, is by holding the forearm
and hand vertically posed with the palmar aspect facing the
speaker. This method of expression, while perhaps bolder and
more graphic than that before mentioned, seems more purely
oratorical and less graceful, less subtly pictorial and
elegant than the one previously described, and therefore less
adapted to the hula. For it must be borne in mind that the
hula demanded the subordination of strength to grace and
elegance. We may at the same time be sure that the halau
showed individuality in its choice of methods, that it varied
its technique and manner of expression at different times and
places, according to the different conception of one or
another kumu.
[Page 178]
Progression, as in walking or traveling, is represented by
means of a forward undulatory movement of the outstretched
arm and hand, palm downward, in a horizontal plane. This
gesture is rhythmic and beautifully pictorial. If the other
hand also is made a partner in the gesture, the significance
would seem to be extended, making it include, perhaps, a
larger number in the traveling company. The mere extension of
the arm, the back-hand advanced, would serve the purpose of
indicating removal, travel, but in a manner less gracious and
caressing.

To represent an open level space, as of a sand-beach or of
the earth-plain, the Hawaiian very naturally extended his
arms and open hands—palms downward, of course—the degree of
his reaching effort being in a sense a measure of the scope
intended.

To represent the act of covering or protecting oneself with
clothing, the Hawaiian placed the hollow of each hand over
the opposite shoulder with a sort of hugging action. But
here, again, one can lay down no hard and fast rule. There
was differentiation; the pictorial action might well vary
according to the actor’s conception of the three or more
generic forms that constituted the varieties of Hawaiian
dress, which were the _málo_ of the man, the _pa-ú_ of the
woman, and the decent _kiheí_, a toga-like robe, which, like
the blanket of the North American Indian, was common to both
sexes. Still another gesture, a sweeping of the hands from
the shoulder down toward the ground, would be used to
indicate that costly feather robe, the _ahuula_, which was
the regalia and prerogative of kings and chiefs.

The Hawaiian places his hands, palms up, edge to edge, so
that the little finger of one hand touches its fellow of the
other hand. By this action he means union or similarity. He
turns one palm down, so that the little finger and thumb of
opposite hands touch each other. The significance of the
action is now wholly reversed; he now means disunion,
contrariety.

To indicate death, the death of a person, the finger-tips,
placed in apposition, are drawn away from each other with a
sweeping gesture and at the same time lowered till the palms
face the ground. In this case also we find diversity. One old
man, well acquainted with hula matters, being asked to
signify in pantomimic fashion “the king is sick,” went
through the following motions: He first pointed upward, to
indicate the heaven-born one, the king; then he brought his
hands to his body and threw his face into a painful grimace.
To indicate the death of the king he threw his hands upward
toward the sky, as if to signify a removal by flight. He
admitted the accuracy of the gesture, previously described,
in which the hands are moved toward the ground.

There are, of course, imitative and mimetic gestures galore,
as of paddling, swimming, diving, angling, and the like,
[Page 179] which one sees every day of his life and which are to be
regarded as parts of that universal shorthand vocabulary of
unvocalized speech that is used the world over from Naples to
Honolulu, rather than stage-conventions of the halau. It will
suffice to mention one motion or gesture of this sort which
the author has seen used with dramatic effect. An old man was
describing the action of Hiiaka (the little sister of Pele)
while clearing a passage for herself and her female companion
with a great slaughter of the reptilian demon-horde of _ma’o_
that came out in swarms to oppose the progress of the goddess
through their territory while she was on her way to fetch
Prince Lohiau. The goddess, a delicate piece of humanity in
her real self, made short work of the little devils who
covered the earth and filled the air. Seizing one after
another, she bit its life out, or swallowed it as if it had
been a shrimp. The old man represented the action most
vividly: pressing his thumb, forefinger, and middle finger
into a cone, he brought them quickly to his mouth, while he
snapped his jaws together like a dog seizing a morsel, an
action that pictured the story better than any words.

It might seem at first blush that facial expression,
important as it is, owing to its short range of
effectiveness, should hardly be put in the same category with
what may be called the major stage-gestures that were in
vogue in the halau. But such a judgment would certainly be
mistaken. The Greek use of masks on the stage for their
“carrying power” testified to their valuation of the
countenance as a semaphore of emotion; at the same time their
resort to this artifice was an implicit recognition of the
desirability of bringing the window of the soul nearer to the
audience. The Hawaiians, though they made no use of masks in
the halau, valued facial expression no less than the Greeks.
The means for the study of this division of the subject, from
the nature of the case, is somewhat restricted and the
pursuit of illustrations makes it necessary to go outside of
the halau.

The Hawaiian language was one of hospitality and invitation.
The expression _mai_, or _komo mai_, this way, or come in,
was the most common of salutations. The Hawaiian sat down to
meat before an open door; he ate his food in the sight of all
men, and it was only one who dared being denounced as a churl
who would fail to invite with word and gesture the passer-by
to come in and share with him. This gesture might be a
sweeping, downward, or sidewise motion of the hand in which
the palm faced and drew toward the speaker. This seems to
have been the usual form when the two parties were near to
each other; if they were separated by any considerable
distance, the fingers would perhaps more likely be turned
upward, thus making the signal more distinctly visible and at
the same time more emphatic.
[Page 180]
In the expression of unvoiced assent and dissent the Hawaiian
practised refinements that went beyond our ordinary
conventions. To give assent he did not find it necessary so
much as to nod the head; a lifting of the eyebrows sufficed.
On the other hand, the expression of dissent was no less
simple as well as decisive, being attained by a mere grimace
of the nose. This manner of indicating dissent was not,
perhaps, without some admixture of disdain or even scorn; but
that feeling, if predominant, would call for a reenforcement
of the gesture by some additional token, such as a pouting of
the lips accompanied by an upward toss of the chin. A more
impersonal and coldly businesslike way of manifesting a
negative was by an outward sweep of the hand, the back of the
hand being turned to the applicant. Such a gesture, when
addressed to a huckster or a beggar—a rare bird, by the way,
in old Hawaii—was accepted as final.

There was another method of signifying a most emphatic, even
contemptuous, no. In this the tongue is protruded and allowed
to hang down flat and wide like the flaming banner of a
panting hound. A friend states that the Maoris made great use
of gestures with the tongue in their dances, especially in
the war-dance, sometimes letting it hang down broad, flat,
and long, directly in front, sometimes curving it to right or
left, and sometimes stuffing it into the hollow of the cheek
and puffing out one side of the face. This manner—these
methods it might be said—of facial expression, so far as
observed and so far as can be learned, were chiefly of
feminine practice. The very last gesture—that of the
protruded tongue—is not mentioned as one likely to be
employed on the stage in the halau, certainly not in the
performance of what one would call the serious hulas. But it
might well have been employed in the hula ki’i (see p. 91),
which was devoted, as we have seen, to the portrayal of the
lighter and more comic aspects of daily life.

It is somewhat difficult to interpret the meaning of the
various attitudes and movements of the feet and legs. Their
remoteness from the centers of emotional control, their
detachment from the vortices of excitement, and their seeming
restriction to mechanical functions make them seem but
slightly sympathetic with those tides of emotion that speed
through the vital parts of the frame. But, though somewhat
aloof from, they are still under the dominion of, the same
emotional laws that govern the more central parts.

Man is all sympathy one part with another;
For head with heart hath joyful amity,
And both with moon and tides.

The illustrations brought to illuminate this division of the
subject will necessarily be of the most general application
and will seem to belong rather to the domain of oratory than
[Page 181] to that of dramatic or stage expression, by which is meant
expression fitted for the purposes of the halau.

To begin with a general proposition, the attitude of the feet
and legs must be sympathetic with that of the other parts of
the body. When standing squarely on both feet and looking
directly forward, the action may be called noncommittal,
general; but if the address is specialized and directed to a
part of the audience, or if attention is called to some
particular region, the face will naturally turn in that
direction. To attain this end, while the leg and arm of the
corresponding side will be drawn back, the leg and arm of the
opposite side will be advanced, thus causing the speaker to
face the point of address. If the speaker or the actor
addresses himself, then, to persons, or to an object, on his
right, the left leg will be the one more in advance and the
left arm will be the one on which the burden of gesture will
fall, and vice versa.

It would be a mistake to suppose that every motion or gesture
displayed by the actors on the stage of the halau was
significant of a purpose. To do that would be to ascribe to
them a flawless perfection and strength that no body of
artists have ever attained. Many of their gestures, like the
rhetoric of a popular orator, were mere flourishes and
ornaments. With a language so full of seemingly superfluous
parts, it could not well be otherwise than that their
rhetoric of gesture should be overloaded with flourishes.

The whole subject of gesture, including facial expression, is
worthy of profound study, for it is linked to the basic
elements of psychology. The illustrations adduced touch only
the skirts of the subject; but they must suffice. An
exhaustive analysis, the author believes, would show an
intimate and causal relation between these facial expressions
and the muscular movements that are the necessary
accompaniments or resultants of actual speech. To illustrate,
the pronunciation of the Hawaiian word _ae_ (pronounced like
our aye), meaning “yes,” involves the opening of the mouth to
its full extent; and this action, when accomplished, results
in a sympathetic lifting of the eyebrows. It is this ultimate
and completing part of the action which the Hawaiian woman
adopts as her semaphore of assent.

One of the puzzling things about gesture comes when we try to
think of it as a science rooted in psychology. It is then we
discover variations presented by different peoples in
different lands, which force us to the conviction that in
only a part of its domain does it base itself on the strict
principles of psychology. Gesture, like language, seems to be
made up in good measure of an opportunist growth that springs
up in answer to man’s varying needs and conditions. The
writer hopes he will not be charged with begging the
question in suggesting that another element which we must
[Page 182] reckon with as influential in fashioning and stereotyping
gesture is tradition and convention. To illustrate—the actor
who took the rôle of Lord Dundreary in the first performance
of the play of the same name accidentally made a fantastic
misstep while crossing the stage. The audience was amused,
and the actor, quick to avail himself of any open door,
followed the lead thus hinted at. The result is that he won
great applause and gave birth to a mannerism which has
well-nigh become a stage convention.
[Page 183]

XXIII.—THE HULA PA-HUA

The hula _pa-hua_ was a dance of the classical times that has
long been obsolete. Its last exhibition, so far as
ascertained, was in the year 1846, on the island of Oahu. In
this performance both the olapa and the hoopaa cantillated
the mele, while the latter squatted on the floor. Each one
was armed with a sharp stick of wood fashioned like a
javelin, or a Hawaiian spade, the _o-ó_; and with this he
made motions, thrusting to right and to left; whether in
imitation of the motions of a soldier or of a farmer could
not be learned. The gestures of these actors were in perfect
time with the rhythm of the mele.

The dance-movements performed by the olapa, as the author has
heard them described, were peculiar, not an actual rotation,
but a sort of half-turn to one side and then to the other, an
advance followed by a retreat. While doing this the olapa,
who were in two divisions, marked the time of the movement by
clinking together two pebbles which they held in each hand.

The use of the pebbles after the manner of castanets, the
division of the dancers into two sets, their advance and
retreat toward and away from each other are all suggestive of
the Spanish bolero or fandango. The resemblance went deeper
than the surface. The prime motive of the song, the mele,
also is the same, love in its different phases even to its
most frenzied manifestations.

_Mele_

Pa au i ka ihe a Kane;[326]
Nana ka maka ia Koolau;[327]
Kau ka opua[327] ma ka moana.
Lu’u a e-a, lu’u a e-a,[329]
5 Hiki i Wai-ko-loa.
Aole loa ke kula
I ka pai-lani a Kane.[330]
Ke kane[331] ia no hoi ia
Ka hula pe-pe’e
10 A ka hale ku’i.
Ku’i oe a lono Kahiki-nui;
Hoolei ia iluna o Kaua-loa,
Ka lihilihi pua o ka makemake.
Mao ole ke Koolau i ka lihilihi.
13 He lihi kuleana ia no Puna.
O ko’u puni no ia o ka ike maka.
Aohe makamaka o ka hale, ua hele oe;
Nawai la au e hookipa
I keia mahaoi ana mai nei o ka loa?
20 He makemake no au e ike maka;
I hookahi no po, le’a ke kaunu,
Ka hana mao ole a ke anu.
He anu mawaho, a he hu’i ma-loko.
A ilaila laua la, la’i pono iho.
25 Ua pono oe o kaua, ua alu ka moena;
Ka hana mau a ka Inu-wai;
Mao ole i ka nui kino.
Ku’u kino keia mauna ia ha’i.
E Ku, e hoolei la!
30 A ua noa!

[Footnote 327: _Ihe a Kane_. The spear of Kane. What else can
this he than that old enemy to man’s peace and comfort, love,
passion?]

[Footnote 328: _Koolau_. The name applied to the weather side
of an island; the direction in which one would naturally turn
first to judge of the weather.]

[Footnote 329: _Opua_. A bunch of clouds; a cloud-omen; a
heavenly phenomenon; a portent. In this case it probably
means a lover. The present translation, is founded on this
view.]

[Footnote 330: _Lu’u a e-a_. To dive and then come up to take
breath, as one does in swimming out to sea against the
incoming breakers, or as one might do in escaping from a
pursuer, or in avoiding detection, after the manner of a
loon.]

[Footnote 331: _A Kane_ and _Ke kane_. Instances of
word-repetition, previously mentioned as a fashion much used
in Hawaiian poetry. See instances also of the same figure in
lines 13 and 14 and in lines 16 and 17.]
[Page 184]

[Translation.]

_Song_

I am smitten with spear of Kane;
Mine eyes with longing scan Koolau;
Behold the love-omen hang o’er the sea.
I dive and come up, dive and come up;
5 Thus I reach my goal Wai-ko-loa.
The width of plain is a trifle
To the joyful spirit of Kane.
Aye, a husband, and patron is he
To the dance of the bended knee,
10 In the hall of the stamping feet.
Stamp, till the echo reaches Kahiki;
Still pluck you a wreath by the way
To crown your fondest ambition;
A wreath not marred by the salt wind
15 That plays with the skirts of Puna.
I long to look eye into eye.
Friendless the house, you away;
Pray who will receive, who welcome,
This guest uninvited from far?
20 I long for one (soul-deep) gaze,
One night of precious communion;
Such a flower wilts not in the cold—
Cold without, a tumult within.
What bliss, if we two were together!
25 You are the blest of us twain;
The mat bends under your form.
The thirsty wind, it still rages,
[Page 185] Appeased not with her whole body.
My body is pledged to another.
30 Crown it, Ku, crown it.
Now the service is free!

Some parts of this mele, which is a love-song, have defied
the author’s most strenuous efforts to penetrate their deeper
meaning. No Hawaiian consulted has made a pretense of
understanding it wholly. The Philistines of the middle of the
nineteenth century, into whose hands it fell, have not helped
matters by the emendations and interpolations with which they
slyly interlarded the text, as if to set before us in a
strong light the stigmata of degeneracy from which they were
suffering.

The author has discarded from the text two verses which
followed verse 28:

Hai’na ia mai ka puana:
Ka wai anapa i ke kala.

[Translation.]

Declare to me now the riddle:
The waters that flash on the plain.

The author has refrained from casting out the last two
verses, though in his judgment they are entirely out of place
and were not in the mele originally.

[Page 186]

XXIV—THE HULA PELE