The Hawaiians are out and out in their dancing. They do not gloss it over
and wear no hypocritical fig-leaves. They do not throw masks or mantles
over their viciousness, under the guise of religious charity balls and
philanthropic society parties. The hula is a hip dance, but the Hawaiians
are not “hip”--ocritical in doing it. The dance is not sad or hippish but
one of joy.
I have seen many dances--the Apache in Paris, du ventre in Cairo, the
can-can in Buenos Aires, and with money here in Honolulu one can arrange
with a chauffeur or at a hula house to see a hula combining all these
vile and violent exhibitions. It is a composite of the compost of all
dirty dances, most delightfully depraved, innocent of decency and shame,
the dancers being quite careless about the exposure of their legs,
arms and charms. What captivating indelicacy, so disturbing to the
looker-on. But this it not the native hula. There is sufficient of the
sun and volcano without it. The whites have taken away the native naivete
and added their own nastiness. As a physiological study the dance is
informing. In antiquity these antics were a religious service, combining
poetry, pantomime and passion. The old edition of the heathen hula dance
has been expurgated, but Christian foot-notes suggest more.
At one hula house I witnessed an unscheduled fight between several
sailors who had quarreled over the charms of a hula girl with the result
of broken heads, hearts and furniture. The native proprietor welcomed us
with characteristic Hawaiian hospitality--we could eat, drink and stay as
long as we pleased--all night in fact, with his hula girls for company. I
thanked him for his ancient, beautiful and unbounded generosity but told
him I was married and a minister, although he seemed unable to understand
why that should make any difference with me, since it made little to some
of the local clergy and laity.
One day at high noon, not night, I saw several native women bathing at
Waikiki beach. All they had on was a holoku night-gown that was as good
as nothing when wet. Three white, male strangers sauntered up from the
nearby hotel, waded in, threw their arms around the girls and were guilty
of “divers” familiarities. The girls didn’t object to the conduct of the
boys. I couldn’t help seeing or thinking whether the fishes swam away or
stayed and blushed all colors. Here was a “freedom of the seas” I refer
to the naval board for diplomatic discussion.
God’s righteousness is like the great mountains. I often thought, as I
marvelled at the islands’ scenery, that there are sermons in stones, but
men do not listen; summits preach high ideals and purity, but people are
deaf; and nature’s green only looks down on the mud and mire of lucre,
lies, lust and laziness.