special attention--the way the men and women kept apart. This is not
more pronounced in a Quaker meeting-house. The priest pointed out the
son of the Duke of Leeds, a tall, large, striking-looking man and a
count. Indeed, the graphic, lively loquacity of the good “Father” added
so much to our entertainment, we included him _nolens volens_ in all our
after movements. At 9:30 we went to a grand café and had lemonade, milk
punch and wine. Oh! I must not forget to tell you my gallant escort
presented me with a bouquet.
Next day we went to Cerro, a suburb of fine private residences with an
“aristocratic convent.” We drove up to one of the handsomest places, and
got permission to walk through it. This proved to be the residence of
the Senator to Spain. His young son escorted us, as well as the
gardener, and both were models of courtesy. They presented us with
flowers and leaves, among the latter being that of the guava, which I
have pressed. We could only drive around the Convent of the Sacred
Heart, not having provided ourselves with any introduction. We gained
admission to another residence, that of a Senor de la Costa. It and its
grounds were a dream of beauty. But I must to other excursions, or I
will never get away from Cuba.
One to a great sugar plantation--a charming drive from the city. This
was under the auspices of the German gentleman, who had letters of
introduction to everything worth seeing in the island. When we reached
the entrance gate, admission was most decidedly denied. It took talk and
time to obtain even an interview with the owner. Finally he came--a very
handsome, young, distingue-looking man. At first he was most haughtily
courteous and immovable--_could not grant entrance_. A recent experience
with some ill-mannered fellow-countrymen finally explained this. In the
absence of the family, they had gone into the house, invaded every part
of it, despite the remonstrances of the servants. At last he gave way
and at once became the most gracious of hosts, treating us as if we were
specially invited guests. He went with us himself through all the
works, showing and explaining, and we saw the full process of the
sugar-making, from the feeding of the stalks to the mills to where it
came forth in beautiful glittering crystals of golden-brown sugar. On
parting, he presented each with a cornucopia of it, filled by himself in
our presence. I shall keep mine intact as long as I live.
Another took in two plantations--one of bananas, the other of
pineapples. We had the privilege of gathering from each for ourselves. A
very small bunch of bananas sufficed, and we had them put in our
carriages while we walked some distance to the pineapple plantation.
None of us had ever seen one. It belonged to some native Cubans who had
a cottage at the entrance. One went with us as guide. The plants were in
regular rows, averaging from four to five feet in height, one apple to
each rising in the center of a large cluster of stiff leaves that curve
like those of the aloe, and have much the same appearance and coloring.
The guide invited us to pluck for ourselves, each took one. We little
suspected what “a big contract” even one was, as we gayly and proudly
started on the return tramp, after having tried to see which could find
_the biggest one_ to pluck. Shifting back and forth, first one hand and
then the other, began almost immediately. This did not help long. In a
very few moments I was lagging and panting, and next, possessed with a
fright and dread that the arms could not hold out and that I would have
to drop my treasure. Then such a jump of my heart! A quick step by my
side, a relieving hand slipped between mine and that stem held by such a
despairing clutch, and voice and words that might have been those of my
own special “good angel:” “Allow me to carry your apple.” But didn’t I!
At the cottage, a feast of pineapples awaited us--peeled, sliced and
laid in sugar-besprinkled layers. “Fit food for the gods” indeed! I
wonder if they ever had such.
Just one more excursion, and I will have to sing:
“Beautiful isle, farewell, farewell.”
This was to the caves, sixty miles by rail from Havana. A very early
start was imperative, so we were at the station before it was clear dawn
and partaking of a breakfast of coffee and rolls to serve the sixty
miles. It was far from being a temptation to over-indulgence! The cave
was a short drive from the railway and was made in a variety of
vehicles; but the day was fine and our spirits elastic, and every
moment seemed a special enjoyment, in spite of our lack of comfort. The
cave itself awoke all our enthusiasm. Up pretty ascents, down into
twilight depths, across fairy-like bridges, among subterranean wonders
that exhausted exclamations, and panting and perspiring till my escort,
the German gentleman, groaned between gasps, “I didn’t bargain for
this!” Fortunately, at that juncture, we came upon one of the most
extraordinary features, a large, magnificent, perfectly-formed organ.
Striking it brought forth sonorous responses. A kind of awe hushed us
into silence. The Bride, another of these extraordinary formations, next
elicited unlimited admiration. She stood, gowned in white, with her
filmy veil enveloping her, as if waiting for the bridegroom. By what
subtle processes of congelation had nature fashioned anything so
realistic! One could only gaze and question, and give homage, and
leaving her presence, turn to look again and again, not hoping to see
her ever again.
Do you wonder we were loath to leave the beautiful island? I said, “I
have always been opposed to annexation, but Cuba! Yes, I own to wishing
for it henceforth.”
I think I have never imposed a postscript on you. Now I am going to.
Looking over what I have written, I find I have omitted mentioning one
thing of great moment. It seems that many of the planters are retaining
in slavery a number of colored people who are really free, but ignorant
of the fact. These, I presume, are the ones who come under the decree
giving freedom to all slaves sixty or over sixty years old, issued by
the Spanish government July, 1870. This is surely a crying injustice.
L. G. C.
Cuba, April 7, 1885.
[Illustration]
A VISION OF FATIGUE.
We were a party of nine or ten, making a summer of it.
Put-in-Bay came first on the list of places to be visited. It was
unusually crowded and brilliant that season. All the hotels were full.
The weather was enchanting; the temperature exhilarating. Even the wines
for which it was so celebrated were not more so. Day after day sped in a
kind of intoxication till we felt we could bear it no longer, and to the
last one of us voted to go home for a rest!
That trip was one to be remembered. It was Sunday afternoon. We had to
take an excursion steamer, on boarding which the only “standing-room”
even to be had was to lean against the pillars of the deck. After a long
wait--taking turns--in this way, the captain had his state-room put at
our service, and we realized what a gift of an invention chairs were. On
reaching our home port at 2:30 a. m., we had to trudge several miles,
sharing the carrying of twin babies with their two nurses. No one
complained or shirked. But the lines--
“--bed--bed--delicious bed,
That heaven or earth to the weary head,”
were never more convincing than when we sought ours.
Next morning breakfast at nine, and an immediate return to them.
At once, on dragging and throwing myself upon mine, the vision began.
I was back at Put-in-Bay. It was a crystal world. The island, hotels,
houses, people, the distant shores with their villages, the various
vessels, all, everything, I could see in and through, as I floated
around in a lovely little sail-boat of crystal, and looked down through
its bottom into the crystal depths of the lake.
But there was no time to be lost in wonder. In the twinkling of an eye,
I was standing in space surrounded by gigantic mountains that rose to
the very firmament. They were of countless shapes, some cloven into
rifts and clefts, others smooth as velvet lawns, and so precipitous I
felt what the dizziness would be to dare to look down. Presently my gaze
was fixed by one just in front of me. There was a monstrous fissure in
which, carved as it were, was a giant knee, slightly crooked or bent.
Years before I had read the anecdote about Cuvier; his positive
conviction and assertion that fossil man would be found, and his reply
when asked from time to time, “_pas encore_.” I exclaimed under my
breath: “Why, there is Cuvier’s fossil man.” In a breath I was in a
subterranean chamber of vast proportions, with lofty ceiling and
octagonal in shape. The walls were studded with the richest jewels, and
it was lighted by a soft yet clear radiance--an opaline mist of
exquisite tints. At intervals were placed large caskets on pedestals,
these, too, incrusted with gems.
On my approaching, in succession, one after another, some unseen agency
lifted each cover, revealing all the most celebrated stones I had ever
read of. The Kohinoor lay in a dull mass on a velvet cushion. The green
diamond flashed into tempered light. Orlaff shone as it might have if it
ever was the eye of an Indian idol. The Regent blazed till I could look
no longer. Suddenly such a lovely brilliant! “Oh! this is the Great Rosy
diamond of the fairy story I read so long ago!” I cried, bending over
eagerly. To find myself seated on a throne of mother-of-pearl, and
being borne onward by some invisible force, swift as light, through an
arcade of sea-shells. “Why, this is like Bayard Taylor’s arcade of
rainbows--as beautiful! as beautiful!” I commented. Shells such as I had
never seen, different in shape, color and luster, but uniform in size,
were fitted together from a height far overhead to a depth far below. On
and on, dazzled, enchanted, bewildered, yet commenting without pause,
till I was gazing, transfixed, on such a spectacle as would have lifted
the apocalyptic John into the Seventh Heaven!
Then rose before me Jerusalem on its hill, the holy city of the Jews,
with its sacred temple, the city of the Crusades, the city of
pilgrimages, the city of the New Testament. And beyond and above it, the
heavens were opened, and the New Jerusalem was revealed in all the glory
of its prophecies, traditions and beliefs. The Promise and the
Fulfillment! Awe-struck, almost blinded, I was gazing from one to the
other, saying to myself: “How can I ever describe what I have seen? How
explain it? Where find words to express it? There is nothing, nothing, I
can compare it to or with”--
A repeated tapping at my door, which I heard but could make no response
to. Then I knew the maid had gone away. Presently, another rap; then
the door unclosed and my name called; finally, a touch and gentle
shaking roused me as if from a nightmare. It was half-past two. I had
not lost consciousness for a moment, but I had not moved or spoken
aloud. When I described the above to a learned friend, he said it was
caused by the preceding extreme fatigue. I accepted the explanation.
[Illustration]
FOOTNOTES:
[A] Trossachs.
[B] My memory is in a fog, but I think it was beneath this monument I
had just read these words of comment: “Baedeker says the old gent”--when
I was ruthlessly hurried away; and now I shall never know what Baedeker
said. All the same, I feel sure Young America was the irreverent
commentor.
* * * * *
Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:
Januaay 1, 1884=> January 1, 1884 {pg ix}
has a wierd=> has a weird {pg 5}
Neibelungenlied=> Neibelungenlied {pg 106}
for the attendanee of=> for the attendance of {pg 129}
I lelt Munich two weeks ago=> I left Munich two weeks ago {pg 131}
with sufficent strength=> with sufficient strength {pg 143}
the close attentention=> the close attention {pg 187}
the fulfilment of what=> the fulfillment of what {pg 235}
radiantly beautitul=> radiantly beautiful {pg 241}
And I hope Guercina’s=> And I hope Guercino’s {pg 253}
the qaint old building=> the quaint old building {pg 264}
again the acanthas and wild=> again the acanthus and wild {pg 281}
between tripple hedges of roses=> between triple hedges of roses {pg
286}
it is a syacmore=> it is a sycamore {pg 298}
bending over eagarly=> bending over eagerly {pg 324}
Munchen=> München {x 5}