Contrast between Protestant and Catholic communities--Catholic
churches--Sabbath scenes in Havana--Devotion of the common
people--The Plaza de Armas--City squares--The poor man's
opera--Influence of music--La Dominica--The Tacon Paseo--The Tacon
Theatre--The Cathedral--Tomb of Columbus over the altar--Story of
the great Genoese pilot--His death--Removal of remains--The former
great wealth of the church in Cuba--Influence of the priests.
On no occasion is the difference between the manners of a Protestant and
Catholic community so strongly marked as on the Sabbath. In the former,
a sober seriousness stamps the deportment of the people, even when they
are not engaged in devotional exercises; in the latter, worldly
pleasures and religious exercises are pursued as it were at the same
time, or follow each other in incongruous succession. The Parisian flies
from the church to the railway station, to take a pleasure excursion
into the country, or passes with careless levity from St. Genevieve to
the Jardin Mabille; in New Orleans, the Creole, who has just bent his
knee before the altar, repairs to the French opera, and the Cuban from
the blessing of the priest to the parade in the Plaza. Even the Sunday
ceremonial of the church is a pageant; the splendid robe of the
officiating priest, changed in the course of the offices, like the
costumes of actors in a drama; the music, to Protestant ears operatic
and exciting; the clouds of incense that scatter their intoxicating
perfumes; the chants in a strange tongue, unknown to the mass of
worshippers;--all these give the services a holiday and carnival
character.[22]
Far be it from us to charge these congregations with any undue levity;
many a lovely Creole kneels upon the marble floor, entirely estranged
from the brilliant groups around her, and unconscious for the time of
the admiration she excites; many a _caballero_ bows in reverence,
forgetful, for the time being, of the bright eyes that are too often the
load-star of attraction to the church; and there are very many who look
beyond the glittering symbols to the great truths and the great Being
they are intended to typify. But we fear that a large portion of the
community who thus worship, attach more importance to the representation
than to the principles or things represented. The impression made by the
Sabbath ceremonies of the church strikes us as evanescent, and as of
such a character as to be at once obliterated by the excitement of the
worldly pleasures that follow. Still, if the Sabbath in Catholic
countries be not wholly devoted to religious observances, neither are
the week days wholly absorbed by business and pleasure. The churches and
chapels are always open, silently but eloquently inviting to devotion;
and it is much to be able to step aside, at any moment, from the
temptations, business and cares of life, into an atmosphere of seclusion
and religion. The solemn quiet of an old cathedral on a week-day is
impressive from its very contrast with the tumult outside.
Within its venerable walls the light seems chastened as it falls through
storied panes, and paints the images of Christian saints and martyrs on
the cold pavement of the aisles. Who can tell how many a tempest-tossed
soul has found relief and strength from the ability to withdraw itself
at once from the intoxicating whirl of the world and expand in prayer in
one of these hospitable and ever open sanctuaries? The writer is a firm
Protestant, by education, by association and feeling, but he is not so
bigoted as not to see features in the Catholic system worthy of
commendation. Whether the Catholic church has accomplished its mission,
and exhausted its means of good, is a question open to discussion, but
that in the past it has achieved much for the cause of true religion
cannot be denied. Through the darkest period in the history of the
world, it was the lamp that guided to a higher civilization, and the
bulwark of the people against the crushing force of feudalism; and with
all the objections which it discovers to a Protestant eye, it still
preserves many beautiful customs.
The Sabbath in Havana breaks upon the citizens amid the ringing of bells
from the different convents and churches, the firing of cannon from the
forts and vessels, the noise of trumpets, and the roll of the drum.
Sunday is no day of physical rest here. The stores are open as usual,
the same cries are heard in the streets, and the lottery tickets are
vended as ever at each corner. The individual who devotes himself to
this business rends the air with his cries of temptation to the passing
throng, each one of whom he earnestly assures is certain to realize
enormous pecuniary returns by the smallest investment, in tickets, or
portions of tickets, which he holds in sheets, while he brandishes a
huge pair of scissors, ready to cut in any desired proportion. The day
proves no check to the omnipresent "organ grinders," the monkey shows,
and other characteristic scenes. How unlike a New England Sabbath is all
this, how discordant to the feelings of one who has been brought up amid
our Puritanic customs of the sacred day! And yet the people of Havana
seem to be impressed with no small degree of reverence for the Catholic
faith. The rough Montero from the country, with his long line of loaded
mules, respectfully raises his panama with one hand, while he makes the
sign of the cross with the other, as he passes the church. The calisero
or postilion, who dashes by with his master in the volante, does not
forget, in his hurry, to bend to the pommel of his saddle; and even the
little negro slave children may be observed to fold their arms across
their breasts and remain reverentially silent until they have passed its
doors.
The city abounds in beautifully arranged squares, ornamented by that
king of the tropical forest, the Royal Palm, with here and there a few
orange trees, surrounded by a luxuriant hedge of limes. The largest and
most beautiful of these squares is the _Plaza de Armas_, fronting which
is the Governor's palace, and about which are the massive stone barracks
of the Spanish army. This square is surrounded by an iron railing and
divided into beautiful walks, planted on either side with gaudy flowers,
and shadowed by oranges and palms, while a grateful air of coolness is
diffused around by the playing of a copious fountain into a large stone
basin, surmounted by a marble statue of Ferdinand. Public squares, parks
and gardens, are the lungs of great cities, and their value increases as
the population becomes dense. Heap story upon story of costly marble,
multiply magazines and palaces, yet neglect to provide, in their midst,
some glimpse of nature, some opening for the light and air of heaven,
and the costliest and most sumptuous of cities would prove but a dreary
dwelling-place. The eye wearies, in time, of the glories of art, but of
the gifts of nature never, and in public squares and gardens both may be
happily combined.
Human culture brings trees, shrubs and flowers to their fullest
development, fosters and keeps green the emerald sward, and brings the
bright leaping waters into the midst of the graces of nature. Nowhere
does a beautiful statue look more beautiful than when erected in a
framework of deep foliage. These public squares are the most attractive
features of cities. Take from London Hyde Park, from Paris the Champs
Elysees and the Tuilleries gardens, the Battery and the Park from New
York, and the Common from Boston, and they would be but weary
wildernesses of brick, stone and mortar. The enlightened corporation
that bestows on a young city the gift of a great park, to be enjoyed in
common forever, does more for posterity than if it raised the most
sumptuous columns and palaces for public use or display.
[Illustration: PLAZA DE ARMAS AND GOVERNOR'S PALACE.]
The Plaza de Armas of Havana is a living evidence of this, and is the
nightly resort of all who can find time to be there, while the
governor's military band performs always from seven to nine o'clock. The
Creoles call it "the poor man's opera," it being free to all; every
class resorts hither; and even the ladies, leaving their volantes,
sometimes walk with husband or brother within the precincts of the
Plaza. We are told that "the man who has not music in his soul is fit
for treason, stratagem and spoils." It is undoubtedly from motives of
policy that the Havanese authorities provide this entertainment for the
people. How ungrateful it would be to overthrow a governor whose band
performs such delightful polkas, overtures and marches; and yet, it
requires some circumspection for the band-master to select airs for a
Creole audience. It would certainly never do to give them "Yankee
Doodle;" their sympathies with the "_Norte Americanos_" are sufficiently
lively without any such additional stimulus; and it is well for the
authorities to have a care, for the power of national airs is almost
incredible. It was found necessary, in the times of the old Bourbons, to
forbid the performance of the "_Ranz des Vaches_," because it so filled
the privates of the Swiss guards with memories of their native home that
they deserted in numbers. The Scotch air of "Lochaber no more" was found
to have the same effect upon the Highland regiments in Canada; and we
are not sure that "Yankee Doodle," performed in the presence of a
thousand Americans on the Plaza de Armas, would not secure the
annexation of the island in a fortnight.
The Creoles are passionately fond of music. Their favorite airs, besides
the Castilian ones, are native dances, which have much sweetness and
individuality of character. They are fond of the guitar and flageolet,
and are often proficients in their use, as well as possessing fine vocal
powers. The voice is cultivated among the gentlemen as often as with the
ladies. Music in the open air and in the evening has an invincible
effect everywhere, but nowhere is its influence more deeply felt than in
a starry tropical night. Nowhere can we conceive of a musical
performance listened to with more delightful relish than in the Plaza at
Havana, as discoursed by the governor's band, at the close of the long
tropical twilight.
In the immediate neighborhood of the Plaza, near the rear of the
governor's palace, is a superb confectionary,--really one of the
notabilities of the city, and only excelled by Taylor's saloon,
Broadway, New York. It is called La Dominica, and is the popular resort
of all foreigners in Havana, and particularly of Americans and
Frenchmen. It is capable of accommodating some hundreds of visitors at a
time, and is generally well filled every afternoon and evening. In the
centre is a large open court, paved with white marble and jasper, and
containing a fountain in the middle, around which the visitors are
seated. Probably no establishment in the world can supply a larger
variety of preserves, bon-bons and confectionaries generally, than this,
the fruits of the island supplying the material for nearly a hundred
varieties of preserves, which the proprietor exports largely to Europe
and America, and has thereby accumulated for himself a fortune.
Following the street on which is this famous confectionary, one is soon
brought to the city walls, and, passing outside, is at once ushered into
the Tacon Paseo, where all the beauty and fashion of the town resort in
the after part of the day. It is a mile or more in length, beautifully
laid out in wide, clean walks, with myriads of tropical flowers, trees
and shrubs, whose fragrance seems to render the atmosphere almost dense.
Here the ladies in their volantes, and the gentlemen mostly on foot,
pass and repass each other in a sort of circular drive, gayly saluting,
the ladies with a coquettish flourish of the fan, the gentlemen with a
graceful wave of the hand.
In these grounds is situated the famous Tacon Theatre. In visiting the
house, you enter the first tier and parquette from the level of the
Paseo, and find the interior about twice as large as any theatre in this
country, and about equal in capacity to Tripler Hall, New York, or the
Music Hall, Boston. It has five tiers of boxes, and a parquette with
seats, each separate, like an arm-chair, for six hundred persons. The
lattice-work in front of each box is light and graceful, of gilt
ornament, and so open that the dresses and pretty feet of the senoras
are seen to the best advantage. The decorations are costly, and the
frescoes and side ornaments of the proscenium exceedingly beautiful. A
magnificent cut-glass chandelier, lighted with gas, and numerous smaller
ones extending from the boxes, give a brilliant light to this elegant
house. At the theatre the military are always in attendance in strong
force, as at all gatherings in Cuba, however unimportant, their only
perceptible use, however, being to impede the passages, and stare the
ladies out of countenance. The only other noted place of amusement is
the Italian opera-house, within the city walls, an oven-shaped building
externally, but within appropriately and elegantly furnished with every
necessary appurtenance.
No object in Havana will strike the visitor with more of interest than
the cathedral, situated in the Calle de Ignacio. Its towers and pillared
front of defaced and moss-grown stone call back associations of
centuries gone by. This cathedral, like all of the Catholic churches, is
elaborately ornamented with many fine old paintings of large size and
immense value. The entire dome is also decorated with paintings in
fresco. The chief object of interest, however, and which will not fail
to attract the attention, is a tablet of marble inlaid in the wall at
the right of the altar, having upon its face the image of Christopher
Columbus, and forming the entrance to the tomb where rest the ashes of
this discoverer of a western world; here, too, are the iron chains with
which an ungrateful sovereign once loaded him. How great the contrast
presented to the mind between those chains and the reverence bestowed
upon this tomb![23]
[Illustration: THE CATHEDRAL AT HAVANA.]
The story of the great Genoese possesses a more thrilling interest than
any narrative which the imagination of poet or romancer has ever
conceived. The tales of the Arabian Nights, with all their wealth of
fancy, are insipid and insignificant compared with the authentic
narrative of the adventures of the Italian mariner and his sublime
discovery. Familiar as we are with it from childhood, from the greatness
of the empire he gave to Christendom, the tale has still a fascination,
however often repeated, while the visible memorials of his greatness and
his trials revive all our veneration for his intellect and all our
interest in the story of his career. His name flashes a bright ray over
the mental darkness of the period in which he lived, for men generally
were then but just awakening from the dark sleep of the middle ages. The
discovery of printing heralded the new birth of the republic of letters,
and maritime enterprise received a vigorous impulse. The shores of the
Mediterranean, thoroughly explored and developed, had endowed the
Italian states with extraordinary wealth, and built up a very
respectable mercantile marine, considering the period. The Portuguese
mariners were venturing farther and farther from the peninsula ports,
and traded with different stations on the coast of Africa.
But to the _west_ lay what men supposed to be an illimitable ocean, full
of mystery, peril and death. A vague conception that islands, hitherto
unknown, might be met with afar off on that strange wilderness of
waters, like oases in a desert, was entertained by some minds, but no
one thought of venturing in quest of them. Columbus alone, regarded
merely as a brave and intelligent seaman and pilot, conceived the idea
that the earth was spherical, and that the East Indies, the great El
Dorado of the century, might be reached by circumnavigating the globe.
If we picture to ourselves the mental condition of the age, and the
state of science, we shall find no difficulty in conceiving the scorn
and incredulity with which the theory of Columbus was received. We shall
not wonder that he was regarded as a madman or as a fool; we are not
surprised to remember that he encountered repulse upon repulse, as he
journeyed wearily from court to court, and pleaded in vain for aid to
the sovereigns of Europe and wise men of the cloister. But the marvel is
that when gate after gate was closed against him, when all ears were
deaf to his patient importunities, when day by day the opposition to his
views increased, when, weary and foot-sore, he was forced to beg a
morsel of bread and a cup of water for his fainting and famished boy, at
the door of a Spanish convent, his reason did not give way, and his
great heart did not break beneath its weight of disappointment.
But his soul was then as firm and steadfast as when, launched in his
frail caravel upon the ocean, he pursued day after day, and night after
night, amidst a discontented, murmuring, and mutinous crew, his westward
path over the trackless waters. We can conceive of his previous sorrows,
but what imagination can form an adequate conception of his hopefulness
and gratitude when the tokens of the neighborhood of land first greeted
his senses; of his high enthusiasm when the shore was discovered; of his
noble rapture when the keel of his bark grounded on the shore of San
Salvador, and he planted the royal standard in the soil, the Viceroy and
High Admiral of Spain in the New World! No matter what chanced
thereafter, a king's favor or a king's displeasure, royal largesses or
royal chains,--that moment of noble exultation was worth a long lifetime
of trials. Such were our thoughts before the cathedral altar, gazing on
his consecrated tomb, and thus suggestive will the visitor be sure to
find this memorial of the great captain amid its sombre
surroundings.[24]
It will be remembered that Columbus died in Valladolid, in 1506. In 1513
his remains were transferred to Seville, preparatory to their being
sent, as desired in his will, to St. Domingo. When that island was ceded
to France, the remains were delivered to the Spaniards. This was in
1796, one hundred and three years after they had been placed there; they
were then brought with great pomp to Havana, in a national ship, and
were deposited in the cathedral in the presence of all the high
authorities. The church itself, aside from this prominent feature of
interest, is vastly attractive from its ancient character and
appearance, and one lingers with mysterious delight and thoughtfulness
among its marble aisles and confessionals.
The wealth of the church and of the monks in Cuba was formerly
proverbial, but of late years the major portion of the rich perquisites
which they were so long permitted to receive, have been diverted in
their course, so as to flow into the coffers of the crown. The priests
at one time possessed large tracts of the richest soil of the island,
and their revenue from these plantations was immense; but these lands
were finally confiscated by the government, and, with the loss of their
property, the power of the monks has also declined, and they themselves
diminished in numbers. Two of their large establishments, St. Augustine
and St. Domingo, have been converted into government storehouses, and
the large convent of San Juan de Dios is now used solely for a hospital.
Formerly the streets were thronged by monks, but now they are only
occasionally seen, with their sombre dress and large shovel hats.
The character of this class of men has of former years been a scandal to
the island, and the stories that are told by respectable people
concerning them are really unfit for print. They led lives of the most
unlimited profligacy, and they hesitated not to defy every law, moral or
divine. For a long period this existed, but Tacon and subsequent
governors-general, aroused to a sense of shame, made the proper
representations to the home government, and put a stop to their
excesses. Many persons traced the bad condition of public morals and the
increase of crime just previous to Tacon's governorship directly to this
ruling influence.
A fearful condition when those who assume to lead in spiritual affairs
proved the fountain-head of crime upon the island, themselves the worst
of criminals.
FOOTNOTES:
[22] The influence of fifteen minutes in the church, if salutary, seems
soon dissipated by the business and amusements without its walls. The
shops are open; the cock-pit fuller than on busier days of the week; and
the streets thronged with volantes; the theatres and ball rooms crowded;
and the city devoted to pleasure.--_Rev. Abiel Abbot's Letters._
[23] There is now being completed, at Genoa, an elaborate and most
classical monument to the memory of Columbus. The work hag been
entrusted to a Genoese, a pupil of Canova; and, according to Prof.
Silliman, who visited it in 1851, promises to be "one of the noblest of
historical records ever sculptured in marble."
[24] The reward of genius is rarely contemporary, and even posterity is
frequently most remiss in its justice. "Sebastian Cabot gave England a
continent," says Bancroft, "and no one knows his burial-place!"