There isn’t much by way of furnishing in the Queen’s imprisonment room. There’s a little white bed, a rather ornate loveseat, and a dresser. There’s a large crazy quilt displayed under Plexiglas, it’s beautiful and sad, but not as sad as the little Chinese birdcage that stands empty on top of the dresser.
Queen Liliuokalani was sentenced to hard labor for her supposed role in a rebellion she denied having any hand in planning. Her sentence was reduced to imprisonment in this corner room in ‘Iolani Palace, the very Europeanized home to King David Kalakaua and Queen Kapiolani. Confined to this corner room with her maid, she wrote music, worked on the magnificent quilt, and started her memoirs.
The palace is a sad and quiet place. I was saddened by the European adornments, by the flowery etched glass windows, by the Hawaiian museum guards, big silent guys in cloth booties — all visitors wear them, they’re to protect the hardwood floors, the booties, not the museum guards. I was saddened by the fading red of the throne room, where I removed my hat to present myself to the King and Queen.
A Japanese couple rushed around as though there was someplace else they needed to be, and a handful of ladies lamented that they’d not left their giant handbags in the car. The guards and docents sat quietly, indulging my rookie questions, confirming that the photo of Kaiser of Austria was indeed the Kaiser and yes, that was Sissie aus Bayern too, opposite. It was cool in the high-ceilinged rooms, and quiet mostly, and I took off my hat again when I stood in the Queen’s elegant prison.
Across the street from ‘Iolani Palace, there’s a statue of Kamehameha. He stands tall and strong and dressed in, well, not much really, a collection of wide bands of yellow feathers. It is striking to see him, the warrior king who unified the islands, and then, the photos of later Hawaiian royalty, wrapped up tight in Victorian satin, high collars and bustles, jackets covered in ornate ribbons and medals.
The birdcage sat there, empty, on top of the Queen’s dresser. Some clever person with a keen sense of metaphor probably put it there. It may or may not have been an antique, it may or may not have belonged to the Queen — would her captors have let her keep a songbird to remind her she was not free to fly? There was no one in that room to ask and, as happens to me often, I was stuck under the weight of history and needed to step out into the sunshine.
The lawn outside the palace was covered in little birds dressed in their finest. Probably, during her time imprisoned, Queen Liliuokalani could hear them singing, unaware that Hawaii was no longer free.
Addendum 10/31: A few minor corrections added post feedback from those who know more of the palace than I. And I’ve got an inquiry in to the curator to find out more about that little birdcage.
Addendum 11/7: The curator at the museum confirmed that the birdcage is a period replica and that the Queen mentions being allowed to keep canaries in the journals she wrote during her detention.
Disclaimer: Travel, accommodation, and some activities portions of my trip were sponsored by the Oahu Visitor’s Bureau in exchange for my blogging about my experiences in Hawaii.
This was a very interesting read.
Why did you take your hat off? I think only gentlemen do, or is there another rule I don’t know?
I, too, found the palace a sad and lonely place. The end of the Hawaiian monarchy is a shameful chapter in our nation’s history — one which so few people know or understand. Thanks for this melancholy reflection.
@anne: I guess it just felt like the right thing to do. I believe you’re right, it’s probably just the gents, but given that I was in shorts and a t-shirt (the same uniform worn by the guards), it seemed like I should do something.
There is a definite sadness, when you know the stories. Thanks for bringing up one of them.