Strive with your might.
Refrain.
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 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.