o’er the pali, evening or late in the afternoon. On this part
of Kauai the sun sets behind the mountains.]
[Footnote 294: _Wai-a-ma’o_. The land-breeze, which sometimes
springs up at night.]
[Footnote 295: _Wai-pá_. A spot on the bank of the stream where
grew a pandanus tree, _hala_, styled _Ka-hala-mapu-ana_, the
hala-breathing-out-its-fragrance.]
[Translation.]
_Song_
Up to the streams in the wildwood,
Where rush the falls Molo-kama,
While the rain sweeps past Mala-hoa,
I had a passion to visit
5 The forest of bloom at Koili,
[Page 134] To give love-caress to Manu’a,
And her neighbor Maha-moku,
And see the waters flash at Mono-lau;
My hand would quiet their rage,
10 Would sidle and touch Lani-huli.
Grant me but this one entreaty,
We’ll meet ’neath the omens above.
Two flowers there are that bloom
In your garden of being;
15 Entwine them into a garland,
Fit emblem and crown of our love.
And what the hour of your coming?
When stands the Sun o’er the pali,
When turns the breeze of the land,
20 To breathe the perfume of hala,
While the currents swirl at Wai-pá.
This mele is the language of passion, a song in which the
lover frankly pours into the ear of his inamorata the story
of his love up to the time of his last enthrallment. Verses
11, 12, and 17 are the language of the woman. The scene is
laid in the rainy valley of Hanalei, Kauai, a broad and deep
basin, to the finishing of which the elements have
contributed their share. The rush and roar of the waters that
unite to form the river Wai-oli, from their wild tumbling in
the falls of Molo-kama till they pass the river’s mouth and
mingle with the flashing waves of the ocean at Mono-lau,
_Anapa i ke kai o Mono-lau_ (verse 8), are emblematic of the
man’s passion and his quest for satisfaction.
[Illustration:
BUREAU OF AMERICAN ETHNOLOGY
BULLETIN 38 PLATE XV
WOMAN PLAYING ON THE NOSE-FLUTE (OHE-HANO-IHU)]
[Page 135]
XX.—THE HULA OHE
The action of the hula _ohe_ had some resemblance to one of
the figures of the Virginia reel. The dancers, ranged in two
parallel rows, moved forward with an accompaniment of
gestures until the head of each row had reached the limit in
that direction, and then, turning outward to right and left,
countermarched in the same manner to the point of starting,
and so continued to do. They kept step and timed their
gestures and movements to the music of the bamboo nose-flute,
the _ohe_.
In a performance of this hula witnessed by an informant the
chorus of dancers was composed entirely of girls, while the
kumu operated the nose-flute and at the same time led the
cantillation of the mele. This seemed an extraordinary
statement, and the author challenged the possibility of a
person blowing with the nose into a flute and at the same
time uttering words with the mouth. The Hawaiian asserted,
nevertheless, that, the leader of the hula, the kumu, did
accomplish these two functions; yet his answer did not remove
doubt that they were accomplished jointly and at the same
time. The author is inclined to think that the kumu performed
the two actions alternately.
The musical range of the nose-flute was very limited; it had
but two or, at the most, three stops. The player with his
left hand held the flute to the nostril, at the same time
applying a finger of the same hand to keep the other nostril
closed. With the fingers of his right hand he operated the
stops (pl. xv).
_Mele_
E pi’ i ka nahele,
E ike ia Ka-wai-kini,[296]
Nana ia Pihaua-ka-lani,[297]
[Page 136] I kela manu hulu ma’e-ma’e,[298]
5 Noho pu me Ka-hale-lehua,
Punahele ia Kaua-kahi-alii.[299]
E Kaili,[300] e Kaili, e!
E Kaili, lau o ke koa,
E Kaili, lau o ke koa,
10 Moopuna a Hooipo-i-ka-Malanai,[301]
Hiwa-hiwa a ka Lehua-wehe![302]
Aia ka nani i Wai-ehu,
I ka wai kaili puuwai o ka makemake.
Makemake au i ke kalukalu o Kewá,[303]
15 E he’e ana i ka nalu o Maka-iwa.
He iwa-iwa oe na ke aloha,
I Wai-lua nui hoano.
Ano-ano ka hale, aohe kanaka,
Ua la’i oe no ke one o Ali-ó.
20 Aia ka ipo i ka nahele.
[Footnote 296: _Ka-wai-kini_. The name of a rocky bluff that
stands on the side of Mount Wai-ale-ale, looking to Wailua.
It as said to divide the flow from the great morass, the
natural reservoir formed by the hollow at the top of the
mountain, turning a part of it in the direction of Wai-niha,
a valley not far from Hanalei, which otherwise would, it is
said by Hawaiians, go to swell the stream that forms the
Wailua river. This rock, in the old times, was regarded as a
demigod, a _kupua_, and had a lover who resided in Wai-lua,
also another who resided in the mountains. The words in the
first two or three verses may be taken as if they were the
utterance of this Wai-lua lover, saying “I will go up and see
my sweetheart Ka-wai-kini.”]
[Footnote 297: _Pihana-ka-lani_. Literally, the fullness of
heaven. This was a forest largely of lehua that covered the
mountain slope below Ka-wai-kini. It seems as if the purpose
of its mention was to represent the beauties and charms of
the human body. In this romantic region lived the famous
mythological princes—_alii kupua_, the Hawaiians called
them—named _Kaua-kahi-alii_ and _Aiwohi-kupua_, with their
princess sister _Ka-hale-lehua_. The second name mentioned
was the one who married the famous heroine of the romantic
story of _Laie-i-ka-wai_.]
[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.
[Illustration: FIG. 2.—Ka, drumstick for pu-niu. (Pl. XVI.)]
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.
[Illustration:
BUREAU OF AMERICAN ETHNOLOGY
BULLETIN 98 PLATE XVI
PU-NIU, A DRUM]
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.
[Illustration: FIG. 3.—Ohe-hano-ihu, nose-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.
The number of measures devoted to the _i’i_, or fluctuation,
which is indicated by the wavering line [Illustration:],
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]
[Illustration:
BUREAU OF AMERICAN ETHNOLOGY
BULLETIN 38 PLATE XVII
HAWAIIAN MUSICIAN PLAYING ON THE UKU-LELE
(By permission of Hubert Voss)]
[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.
[Illustration: PLATE XVIII
HALA FRUIT BUNCH AND DRUPE WITH A “LEI”
(PANDANUS ODORATISSIMUS)]
[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:]
[Illustration: PU (TRITON TRITONIS)
BUREAU OF AMERICAN ETHNOLOGY
BULLETIN 38 PLATE XIX]
[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.
[Illustration: PHYLLODIA AND TRUE LEAVES OF THE KOA (ACACIA KOA)
BUREAU OF AMERICAN ETHNOLOGY
BULLETIN 38 PLATE XX]
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
The Hawaiian drama could lay hold of no worthier theme than
that offered by the story of Pele. In this epic we find the
natural and the supernatural, the everyday events of nature
and the sublime phenomena of nature’s wonderland, so
interwoven as to make a story rich in strong human and deific
coloring. It is true that the genius of the Hawaiian was not
equal to the task of assembling the dissevered parts and of
combining into artistic unity the materials his own
imagination had spun. This very fact, however, brings us so
much nearer to the inner workshop of the Hawaiian mind.
The story of Pele is so long and complicated that only a
brief abstract of it can be offered now:
Pele, the goddess of the volcano, in her dreams and
wanderings in spirit-form, met and loved the handsome Prince
Lohiau. She would not be satisfied with mere spiritual
intercourse; she demanded the sacrament of bodily presence.
Who should be the ambassador to bring the youth from his
distant home on Kauai? She begged her grown-up sisters to
attempt the task. They foresaw the peril and declined the
thankless undertaking. Hiiaka, the youngest and most
affectionate, accepted the mission; but, knowing her
sister’s evil temper, strove to obtain from Pele a guaranty
that her own forests and the life of her bosom friend Hopoe
should be safeguarded during her absence.
Hiiaka was accompanied by Wahine-oma’o—the woman in green—a
woman as beautiful as herself. After many adventures they
arrived at Haena and found Lohiau dead and in his sepulchre,
a sacrifice to the jealousy of Pele. They entered the cave,
and after ten days of prayer and incantation Hiiaka had the
satisfaction of seeing the body of Lohiau warmed and animated
by the reentrance of the spirit; and the company, now of
three, soon started on the return to Kilauea.
The time consumed by Hiiaka in her going and doing and
returning had been so long that Pele was moved to
unreasonable jealousy and, regardless of her promise to her
faithful sister, she devastated with fire the forest parks of
Hiiaka and sacrificed the life of Hiiaka’s bosom friend, the
innocent and beautiful Hopoe.
Hiiaka and Lohiau, on their arrival at Kilauea, seated
themselves on its ferny brink, and there, in the open view of
Pele’s court, Hiiaka, in resentment at the broken faith of
her sister and in defiance of her power, invited and received
[Page 187] from Lohiau the kisses and dalliance which up to that time
she had repelled. Pele, in a frenzy of passion, overwhelmed
her errant lover, Lohiau, with fire, turned his body into a
pillar of rock, and convulsed earth and sea. Only through the
intervention of the benevolent peacemaking god Kane was the
order of the world saved from utter ruin.
The ancient Hawaiians naturally regarded the Pele hula with
special reverence by reason of its mythological importance,
and they selected it for performance on occasions of gravity
as a means of honoring the kings and alii of the land. They
would have considered its presentation on common occasions,
or in a spirit of levity, as a great impropriety.
In ancient times the performance of the hula Pele, like that
of all other plays, was prefaced with prayer and sacrifice.
The offering customarily used in the service of this hula
consisted of salt crystals and of luau made from the delicate
unrolled taro leaf. This was the gift demanded of every pupil
seeking admission to the school of the hula, being looked
upon as an offering specially acceptable to Pele, the patron
of this hula. In the performance of the sacrifice teacher and
pupil approached and stood reverently before the kuahu while
the former recited a mele, which was a prayer to the goddess.
The pupil ate the luau, the teacher placed the package of
salt on the altar, and the service was complete.
Both olapa and hoopaa took part in the performance of this
hula. There was little or no moving about, but the olapa did
at times sink down to a kneeling position. The performance
was without instrumental accompaniment, but with abundant
appropriate gestures. The subjects treated of were of such
dignity and interest as to require no extraneous
embellishment.
Perusal of the mele which follows will show that the story of
Pele dated back of her arrival in this group:
_He Oli—O ka mele mua keia o ka hula Pele_
Mai Kahiki ka wahine, o Pele,
Mai ka aina i Pola-pola,
Mai ka punohu ula a Kane,
Mai ke ao lalapa i ka lani,
5 Mai ka opua lapa i Kahiki.
Lapa-ku i Hawaii ka wahine, o Pele;
Kalai i ka wa’a Houna-i-a-kea,
Kou wa’a, e Ka-moho-alii.
I apo’a ka moku i pa’a;
10 Ua hoa ka wa’a o ke Akua,
Ka wa’a o Kane-kalai-honua.
Holo mai ke au, a’ea’e Pele-honua-mea;
A’ea’e ka Lani, ai-puni’a i ka moku;
A’ea’e Kini o ke Akua,
[Page 188] 15 Noho a’e o Malau.
Ua ka ia ka liu o ka wa’a.
Ia wai ka hope, ka uli o ka wa’a, e ne hoa ’lii?
Ia Pele-honua-mea.
A’ea’e kai hoe oluna o ka wa’a.
20 O Ku ma, laua o Lono,
Noho i ka honua aina,
Kau aku i hoolewa moku.
Hiiaka, noiau, he akua,
Ku ae, hele a noho i ka hale o Pele.
25 Huahua’i Kahiki, lapa uila, e Pele.
E hua’i, e!
[Translation.]
_A Song—The first song of the hula Pele_
From Kahiki came the woman, Pele,
From the land of Pola-pola,
From the red cloud of Kane,
Cloud blazing in the heavens,
5 Fiery cloud-pile in Kahiki.
Eager desire for Hawaii seized the woman, Pele;
She carved the canoe, Honua-i-a-kea,
Your canoe, O Ka-moho-alii.
They push the work on the craft to completion.
10 The lashings of the god’s canoe are done,
The canoe of Kane, the world-maker.
The tides swirl, Pele-honua-mea o’ermounts them;
The god rides the waves, sails about the island;
The host of little gods ride the billows;
15 Malau takes his seat;
One bales out the bilge of the craft.
Who shall sit astern, be steersman, O, princes?
Pele of the yellow earth.
The splash of the paddles dashes o’er the canoe.
20 Ku and his fellow, Lono,
Disembark on solid land;
They alight on a shoal.
Hiiaka, the wise one, a god,
Stands up, goes to stay at the house of Pele.
25 Lo, an eruption in Kahiki!
A flashing of lightning, O Pele!
Belch forth, O Pele!
Tradition has it that Pele was expelled from Kahiki by her
brothers because of insubordination, disobedience, and
disrespect to their mother, _Honua-mea_, sacred land. (If
Pele in Kahiki conducted herself as she has done in Hawaii,
rending and scorching the bosom of mother
earth—Honua-Mea—it is not to be wondered that her brothers
were anxious to get rid of her.) She voyaged north. Her
[Page 189] first stop was at the little island of Ka-ula, belonging to
the Hawaiian group. She tunneled into the earth, but the
ocean poured in and put a stop to her work. She had the same
experience on Lehua, on Kiihau, and on the large island of
Kauai. She then moved on to Oahu, hoping for better results;
but though she tried both sides of the island, first mount
Ka-ala—the fragrant—and then Konahuanui, she still found
the conditions unsatisfactory. She passed on to Molokai,
thence to Lanai, and to West Maui, and East Maui, at which
last place she dug the immense pit of Hale-a-ka-la; but
everywhere she was unsuccessful. Still journeying east and
south, she crossed the wide Ale-nui-haha channel and came to
Hawaii, and, after exploring in all directions, she was
satisfied to make her home at Kilauea. Here is (_ka piko o ka
honua_) the navel of the earth. Apropos of this effort of
Pele to make a fire-pit for herself, see the song for the
hula kuolo (p. 86), “A pit lies (far) to the east.”
_Mele_
A Kauai, a ke olewa [332] iluna,
Ka pua lana i kai o Wailua;
Nana mai Pele ilaila;
E waiho aku ana o Ahu.[333]
5 Aloha i ka wai niu o ka aina;
E ala mai ana mokihana,
Wai auau o Hiiaka.
Hoo-paapaa Pele ilaila;
Aohe Kau [334] e ulu ai.
10 Keehi aku Pele i ka ale kua-loloa,
He onohi no Pele, ka oaka o ka lani, la.
Eli-eli, kau mai!
[Translation.]
_Song_
To Kauai, lifted in ether,
A floating flower at sea off Wailua—
That way Pele turns her gaze,
She’s bidding adieu to Oahu,
5 Loved land of new wine of the palm. 5
There comes a perfumed waft—mokihana—
The bath of the maid Hiiaka.
Scene it was once of Pele’s contention,
Put by for future attention.
10 Her foot now spurns the long-backed wave; 10
The phosphor burns like Pele’s eye,
Or a meteor-flash in the sky.
Finished the prayer, enter, possess!
[Footnote 332: _Olewa_. Said to be the name of a wooded region
high up on the mountain of Kauai. It is here treated as if it
meant the heavens or the blue ether. Its origin is the same
with the word _lewa_, the upper regions of the air.]
[Footnote 333: _O Ahu_. In this instance the article still
finds itself disunited from its substantive. To-day we have
_Oahu_ and _Ola’a_.]
[Footnote 334: _Kau_, The summer; time of warm weather; the
growing season.]
[Page 190]
The incidents and allusions in this mele belong to the story
of Pele’s journey in search of Lohiau, the lover she met in
her dreams, and describe her as about to take flight from
Oahu to Kauai (verse 4).
Hiiaka’s bath, _Wai auau o Hiiaka_ (verse 7), which was the
subject of Pele’s contention (verse 8), was a spring of water
which Pele had planted at Huleia on her arrival from Kahiki.
The ones with whom Pele had the contention were
Kukui-lau-manienie and Kukui-lauhanahana, the daughters of
Lima-loa, the god of the mirage. These two women lived at
Huleia near the spring. Kamapua’a, the swinegod, their
accepted lover, had taken the liberty to remove the spring
from the rocky bed where Pele had planted it to a neighboring
hill. Pele was offended and demanded of the two women:
“Where is my spring of water?”
“Where, indeed, is your spring? You belong to Hawaii. What
have you to do with any spring on Kauai?” was their answer.
“I planted a clean spring here on this rock,” said Pele.
“You have no water here,” they insisted; “your springs are on
Hawaii.”
“If I were not going in search of my husband Lohiau,” said
Pele, “I would set that spring back again in its old place.”
“You haven’t the power to do that,” said they. “The son of
Kahiki-ula (Kama-puaa) moved it over there, and you can’t
undo his action.”
The eye of Pele, _He onohi no Pele_ (verse 11), is the
phosphorescence which Pele’s footfall stirs to activity in
the ocean.
The formal ending of this mele, _Elieli, kau mai_, is often
found at the close of a mele in the hula Pele, and marks it
as to all intents and purposes a prayer.
_E waiho aku ana o Ahu_ (verse 4). This is an instance of
the separation of the article _o_ from the substantive _Ahu_,
to which it becomes joined to form the proper name of the
island now called Oahu.
_Mele_
Ke amo la ke ko’i ke akua la i-uka;
Haki nu’a-nu’a mai ka nalu mai Kahiki,
Po-po’i aku la i ke alo o Kilauea.[335]
Kanaka hea i ka lakou puaa kanu;
5 He wahine kui lei lehua i uka o Olaa,
Ku’u moku lehua i ke alo o He-eia.
O Kuku-ena[336] wahine,
Komo i ka lau-ki,
[Page 191] A’e-a’e a noho.
10 Eia makou, kou lau kaula la.
Eli-eli, kau mai!
[Footnote 335: The figure in the second and third verses, of
waves from Kahiki (_nalu mai Kahiki_) beating against the
front of Kilauea (_Po-po’i aku la i ke alo o Kilauea_), seems
to picture the trampling of the multitude splashing the mire
as if it were, waves of ocean.]
[Footnote 336: _Kukuena_. There is some uncertainty as to who
this character was; probably the same as Haumea, the mother
of Pele.]
[Translation.]
_Song_
They bear the god’s ax up the mountain;
Trampling the mire, like waves from Kahiki
That beat on the front of Kilauea.
The people with offerings lift up a prayer;
5 A woman strings wreaths in Olaa—
Lehua grove mine bord’ring He-eia.
And now Kukuena, mother god,
Covers her loins with a pa-ú of ti leaf;
She mounts the altar; she sits.
10 Behold us, your conclave of priests.
Enter in, possess us!
This has the marks of a Hawaiian prayer, and as such it is
said to have been used in old times by canoe-builders when
going up into the mountains in search of timber. Or it may
have been recited by the priests and people who went up to
fell the lehua tree from which to carve the Makahiki[337] idol;
or, again, may it possibly have been recited by the company
of hula folk who climbed the mountain in search of a tree to
be set up in the halau as a representation of the god whom
they wished to honor? This is a question the author can not
settle. That it was used by hula folk is indisputable, but
that would not preclude its use for other purposes.
_Mele_
Ku i Wailua ka pou hale[338]
Ka ipu hoolono i ka uwalo,
Ka wawa nui, e Ulupo.
Aole uwalo mai, e.
5 Aloha nui o Ikuwa, Mahoena.
Ke lele la ka makawao o ka hinalo.
Aia i Maná ka oka’i o ka ua o Eleao;
Ke holu la ka a’ahu o Ka-ú [339] i ka makani;
Ke puhi a’e la ka ale kumupali o Ka-ú, Honuapo;
10 Ke hakoko ka niu o Paiaha’a i ka makani.
Uki-uki oukou:
Ke lele la ke kai;
Lele iao,[340] lele!
O ka makani Koolau-wahine,
[Page 192] 15 O ka Moa’e-ku.
Lele ua, lele kawa! [341]
Lele aku, lele mai!
Lele o-ó,[342] o-ó lele; [343]
Lele opuhi,[344] lele;
20 Lele o Kauná,[345] kaha oe.
E Hiiaka e, ku!
[Footnote 337: For an account of the Makahiki idol see Hawaiian
Antiquities, p. 189, by David Malo; translated by N.B.
Emerson, A.M., M.D., Honolulu, Hawaiian Gazette Company
(Limited), 1903.]
[Footnote 338: _Pou hele_. The main post of a house, which is
here intended, was the _pou-haná_; it was regarded with a
superstitious reverence.]
[Footnote 339: _A’hu o Ka-u_. A reference, doubtless, to the
long grass that once covered Ka-ú.]
[Footnote 340: _I-áo_. A small fish that took short flights in
the air.]
[Footnote 341: _Lele kawa_. To jump in sport from a height into
the water.]
[Footnote 342: _Lele o-ó_. To leap feet first into the water.]
[Footnote 343: _O-ó lele_. To dive head first into the water.]
[Footnote 344: _Lele opuhi_. The same as _pahi’a_, to leap
obliquely into the water from a height, bending oneself so
that the feet come first to the surface.]
[Footnote 345: _Kauná_. A woman of Ka-ú celebrated for her
skill in the hula, also the name of a cape that reaches out
into the stormy ocean.]
[Translation.]
_Song_
At Wailua stands the main house-post;
This oracle harks to wild voices,
Tumult and clamor, O Ulu-po;
It utters no voice to entreaty.
5 Alas for the prophet that’s dumb!
But there drifts the incense of hala.
Maná sees the rain-whirl of Eleao.
The robe of Ka-ú sways in the wind,
That dashes the waves ’gainst the sea-wall,
10 At Honu-apo, windy Ka-ú;
The Pai-ha’a palms strive with the gale.
Such weather is grievous to you:
The sea-scud is flying.
My little i-ao, O fly
15 With the breeze Koolau!
Fly with the Moa’e-ku!
Look at the rain-mist fly!
Leap with the cataract, leap!
Plunge, now here, now there!
20 Feet foremost, head foremost;
Leap with a glance and a glide!
Kauná, opens the dance; you win.
Rise, Hiiaka, arise!
The meaning of this mele centers about a phenomenon that is
said to have been observed at Ka-ipu-ha’a, near Wailua, on
Kauai. To one standing on a knoll near the two cliffs Ikuwa
and Mahoena (verse 5) there came, it is said, an echo from
the murmur and clamor of the ocean and the moan of the wind,
a confused mingling of nature’s voices. The listener,
however, got no echoing answer to his own call.
The mele does not stick to the unities as we understand them.
The poets of old Hawaii felt at liberty to run to the ends of
their earth; and the auditor must allow his imagination to be
transported suddenly from one island to another; in this
[Page 193] case, first from Wailua to Maná on the same island, where he
is shown the procession of whirling rain clouds of Eleao
(verse 7). Thence the poet carries him to Honuapo, Hawaii,
and shows him the waves dashing against the ocean-walls and
the clashing of the palm-fronds of Paiaha’a in the wind.
The scene shifts back to Kauai, and one stands with the poet
looking down on a piece of ocean where the people are wont to
disport themselves. (Maka-iwa, not far from Ka-ipu-ha’a, is
said to be such a place.) Verses 12 to 19 in the Hawaiian (13
to 21 in the translation) describe the spirited scene.
It is somewhat difficult to determine whether the Kauná
mentioned in the next poem is the name of the woman or of the
stormy cape. In the mind of a Hawaiian poet the inanimate and
the animate are often tied so closely together in thought and
in speech as to make it hard to decide which is intended.
_Mele_
Ike ia Kauná-wahine, Makani Ka-ú,
He umauma i pa ia e ka Moa’e,
E ka makani o-maka o Unulau.
Lau ka wahine kaili-pua o Paía,
5 Alualu puhala o ka Milo-pae-kanáka, e-e-e-e!
He kanáka ke koa no ka ehu ahiahi,
O ia nei ko ka ehu kakahiaka—
O maua no, me ka makua o makou.
Ua ike ’a!
[Translation.]
_Song_
Behold Kauná, that sprite of windy Ka-ú,
Whose bosom is slapped by the Moa’e-kú,
And that eye-smiting wind Unulaú—
Women by hundreds filch the bloom
5 Of Paía, hunt fruit of the hala, a-ha!
That one was the gallant, at evening,
This one the hero of love, in the morning—
’Twas our guardian I had for companion.
Now you see it, a-ha!