Part 16
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.