You might have thought yourself at a social fair at home, what of the canopies, refreshments, and faces of countrymen—but for the interspersing of brown Hawaiians, so soft and so velvet in face and body, voice and movement, “the friendliest and kindest people in the world.” A learned New Englander over forty years ago eulogized: “When the instinct of hospitality which is native to these islands gets informed and enriched and graced by foreign wealth, intelligence, and culture, it certainly furnishes the perfection of social entertainment. Of course there are in other lands special circles of choice spirits who secure a brilliant intercourse all to themselves of a rare and high kind, but I question if anywhere in the whole world general society is more attractive than in Honolulu. Certainly nowhere else do so many nationalities blend in harmonious social intercourse. Natives of every well-known country reside there, and trading vessels or warships from America and the leading countries of Europe are frequently in port. A remarkable trait of these foreign-born or naturalized Hawaiians is that interest in their native land seems only intensified by their distant residence. The better Hawaiians they are, the better Americans, English, French, or Germans they are. And thus it happens that you meet people fully alive to the great questions and issues of the day all the world over. Their distance from the scene of these conflicts seems to clear their view, and I have heard some of the wisest possible comments upon American affairs, methods, and policies from residents of the islands. Besides, they have in small the same problems to solve in their little kingdom which engage us. All the projected reforms social, moral, civil, or religious, have their place and agitators here.”
The residence of the Prince was open to the public, and through a labyrinth of handsome apartments we roamed, now up a step into a big drawing-room furnished in magnificent native woods and enormous pots of showering ferns, the walls hung with old portraits of the rulers of Hawaii; now down three steps into a pillared recess where, in a huge iron safe, unlocked for the evening, we were shown trophies of the monarchies. Near by were several priceless old royal capes woven of tiny bird-feathers, some red, some of a rich deep yellow, and others of the two colors combined in a glowing orange. Farther on, a glass-front cabinet displayed shelf above shelf of medals and trinkets pertaining to the past regime, including the endless decorations received by King David Kalakaua in the lands visited in his progress around the world in the early ’80s. Some one remarked that he had possessed more of these royal decorations than any known monarch. But this is not so surprising as the fact that he was the only known reigning monarch who ever circumnavigated the globe.
A space in the cabinet was devoted to the Crown of the Realm, a piece of workmanship at once formal and barbaric, with its big bright gems, most conspicuous of which, to me, were the huge pearls. One diamond had been stolen, and the large gaping socket was a pathetic reminder of the empty throne in the old Palace now used as the Executive Building.
Many and barbaric were the objects in this modern home, mere “curios” should the uncaring gaze upon them in a museum; but here in Hawaii they breathed of the vanishing race whose very hands we were pressing and whose singers’ voices caressed the heavy, fragrant air; the while across a lawn that had been carpet for Hawaii Nei festivities of many years sat the deprived sovereign under the eaves of a grass house.
When, we wonder, in our westward traverse, shall we see another queen, or a prince, or a princess—even shadows of such as are these of Hawaii? Not soon enough, I swear, to fade the memory of this remarkable trio; for nothing can ever dim the picture that is ours. And the Princess Elizabeth Kalanianole has set an example, a pattern, that will make us full critical of royal women of any blood.
Seaside Hotel, Waikiki Beach, Honolulu, May 31.
“Waikiki! there is something in the very name that smacks of the sea!” caroled a visitor in the late ’70s. Waikiki—the seaside resort of the world, for there is nothing comparable to it, not only in the temperature of its effervescent water, which averages 78° the year round, but in the surroundings, as well as the unusual variety of sports connected with it, surf-canoeing in the impressively savage black-and-yellow dug-outs; surf-boarding, the ancient game of kings; fishing, sailing; and all on a variously shallow reef, where one may swim and romp forgetful hours without necessarily going out of depth on the sandy bottom. The cream-white curve of beach is for miles plumed with coconut palms, and Diamond Head, “Leahi,” which rounds in the southeastern end of the graceful crescent, is painted by every shifting color, light, and shade, the day long, on its rose-tawny, serrated steeps. And many’s the sail comes whitening around the point, yacht or schooner or full-rigged ship, a human mote that catches the eye and sets one a-dreaming of lately hailed home harbors and beckoning foreign ports with enchanting names.
And one must not forget the earlier mariners who fixed these island havens in the eye of the world. There was Captain Broughton, who anchored off Waikiki in the British discovery-ship Providence, bristling with her sixteen guns. In lazy, inviting mood, floating upon the rocking swell, I like to picture Kamehameha the Great, gorgeous in his orange and crimson feather-cape, stepping aboard from his hardly less gorgeous black and yellow canoe of state, manned by warriors; his mission to request arms and ammunition. But it seems that Broughton was more peacefully bent than his predecessors of two years before, Brown and Gordon; for he firmly declined to lend any part of his armament. When he went ashore, it was for the purpose of making the first survey of Honolulu harbor, and his men were kept at this work for three days.
Broughton was much concerned over the poor estate of the common people, and noted a rapid decline in their numbers since his former visit with Vancouver. Both on Oahu and later on Kauai, he did his best to dissuade those in power from their internecine warfare. Nor did he relax his refusal to allow any part of his sea-arsenal to leave the Providence.
Waikiki! Waikiki! We keep repeating the word; for already it spells a new phase of existence. Here but a scant twenty-four hours, the rest of the world slips into a mild and pleasant, not imperative memory, for the spirit of storied Waikiki has entered ours. The air seems full of wings. I am so happy making home, this time a tent. We two can pitch home anywhere we happen to alight: a handful of clothes-hangers, a supply of writing materials—and other details are mere incidentals. The art of living, greatest of arts, may be partially summed up in this wise: