DAILY LIFE IN CUBA.
A Cuban Home--My Bed-Room--A Creole Breakfast--Don Benigno and his
Family--A Cuban Matron--Church-going in connection with
Shopping--An Evening Tertulia--A Tropical Moon.
Like most of his neighbours, Don Benigno keeps 'open house' in more than
one way. The huge street-door of his habitation remains unclosed at all
hours of the day and evening, and anyone who pleases may walk in and
partake of the Don's hospitality.
Don Benigno's house is constructed after the pattern of the good,
old-fashioned Cuban dwellings, with an eye to earthquake, heavy rains,
and excessive heat. So careful is a creole to provide against these
casualties, that his residence serves less as an abode for comfort than
as a place of shelter. It has a single storey, and is roofed with Roman
tiles. The walls are of lath and plaster, or mamposteria, as it is
called, and the beams which support the roof are visible from the
interior as they are in a barn. Some of the apartments are paved with
marble, while others are paved with brick. In the centre of the spacious
reception-room, or sala, is laid a small square of carpet, like a
misplaced hearth-rug, on which stand twelve rocking-chairs, arranged
face to face like seats in a railway carriage. They are accompanied by
a few footstools and some spittoons. The rooms are not overcrowded with
furniture and ornaments, and these scarce commodities stand out in bold
relief against the white-washed walls and bare flooring. The chairs and
sofas are all cane-backed and cane-bottomed. Tables are not plentiful,
and curtains are employed as adornments for some of the doors instead of
the windows, which are also devoid of glass. An elegant gas chandelier
is suspended from one of the cross-beams of the sloping roof, and a
couple of unserviceable console tables, with their corresponding
pier-glasses, complete the decorations of the sala.
No fire-stoves are required in any chamber except the kitchen, and the
latter being situated in the patio, or court-yard, at the back of the
premises, the residents in a Cuban house are never troubled with any
other smoke than that which is generated by tobacco.
As for the dormitories--the one which I occupy might belong to a holy
friar. There is an aspect of cell and sanctity about everything in it.
The furniture is nothing to speak of, and the bed, which is called a
catre, closely resembles a tressled apple-stall with a canvas tray. When
not in use, the catre is shut up and whisked away into an obscure
corner. When required for sleeping purposes, it is opened, and the bed
having been 'made' with a couple of sheets and a pillow, it is planted
in a cool place, which often happens to be the centre of the apartment.
The monotonous appearance of the white-washed walls is relieved by
coloured lithograph drawings of saints and virgins, and against one of
the walls is placed a table decorated like a small altar with a white
lace-trimmed cloth upon which stand some gilded candlesticks, vases
containing artificial flowers, and a large wooden statuette, gorgeously
painted and embellished. This image represents the patron saint,
Santiago, beneath whose feet burns night and day a small oil lamp. The
object for which this luminary is intended is ignored by me for many
days, and meanwhile I use it, when nobody is looking, for the lighting
of my cigarettes. My authority for this sacrilegious act is derived from
my companion, Nicasio, who is a liberal-minded Catholic, and as I find
he also performs the same ceremony in his own dormitory, my conscience
is relieved. Equally mysterious are a couple of dry fonts which have in
all respects the appearances of china watch-pockets. I make use of one
for the accommodation of my time-piece, until I am informed that only
holy water is allowed to repose within its sacred embraces.
In fine weather my slumbers at night are uninterrupted, but when it
rains--and in Cuba it never rains but it pours in bucketfuls--my rest is
at intervals sorely disturbed. I dream that a thousand belligerent cats
are at civil war on the Roman-tiled roof above me, and that for some
unknown reason I alone expiate their bloodthirsty crimes, by enduring a
horrible penance, which consists in the historical torture of a slow and
perpetual stream of liquid which dribbles upon my bare cranium. I awake
suddenly to find that my nightmare has not been unfounded. Something
damp, proceeding from the sloping roof, drops at regular intervals upon
my forehead. By the light of the patron saint who watches over me I
perceive that the rain has found an inlet through a gotera in the roof.
A gotera is a hole in the tiles, formed during the day by the action of
the baking sun upon the mortar, which yields to its cracking influence
and leaves an aperture. Rising hurriedly in the dead of night, I remove
my catre to a dry corner, and at the same time place a basin beneath the
spot from whence the drops of rain issue. Once more I awake under the
same moistening influence. A fresh gotera has arisen over my dry place
of repose. Again I shift my ground, and use an empty pail for the
accommodation of the intrusive element; but fresh goteras appear
wherever I pitch my catre, until, having circumnavigated all the safe
coasts of my tempestuous apartment and exhausted every receptacle for
water, I take up my bed and deposit it in an adjoining chamber, which
happening to be unoccupied and free from goteras, allows my slumbers to
remain undisturbed till morning.
Don Benigno's family take what we should call breakfast, but which they
term 'tienta pie,' in their respective sleeping chambers. At six A.M. a
dark domestic enters my dormitory with a cup of black coffee and a
cigarette. Later, this is followed by a larger cup of milk qualified
with coffee, or, if I prefer chocolate, the latter in an extraordinary
thick form is brought. The beverage is accompanied by a Cuban bun or a
milk roll with foreign butter: for as the native cow does not supply the
material for that luxury, the butter used in Cuba is all imported in
bottles like preserves.
Eleven o'clock is the hour appointed for breakfast. This is a
substantial meal and appears to be breakfast, dinner, and supper rolled
into one. Every item of food is served as a separate course, of which
there are more than fourteen different 'fuentes,' or dishes, on the
table. A plate of eggs and sliced bananas fried in butter constitutes
the first course. A second course is represented by a dish containing a
combination of boiled rice and dried cod-fish, or 'bacalao,' with tomato
sauce. 'Serence,' with 'congri,' is a Creole dish composed of Indian
corn, rice, and red beans, and forms course number three. Sambumbia,
anis, and chimbombo, are native vegetables prepared in a variety of
palatable ways. An olla podrida of sweet yams, pumpkins, white beans,
bacon, sausage, and cabbage is another favourite dish; and, lastly,
fish, flesh, and fowl in a dozen different guises complete the bill of
fare. This sumptuous repast having been washed down with Catalan claret,
some West Indian fruits and solid-looking preserves are partaken of, and
the indispensable cigar or cigarette and wholesome cafe noir are handed
round.
Breakfast over, the Don's family disperse, each to his or her
occupation. The children retire to their schoolroom, where the different
masters (for in Cuba there are no 'out-door' governesses) engaged for
their instruction arrive at their prescribed hours, give their lessons,
and depart. A master is provided for every branch of learning and for
teaching every art except that of dancing, this accomplishment being
naturally and easily acquired by the graceful little ladies and
gentlemen themselves.
Don Benigno retreats, after breakfast, to his office, where he transacts
his business affairs, which seem to consist chiefly in lolling in an
easy chair with a long cigar between his lips, while he watches his
escribano, or clerk, as that functionary makes up accounts and writes
letters.
As for the Don's lady, Dona Mercedes, she may be described broadly as a
sleeping partner, her department in the firm being literally the
sleeping department. After disposing of her housekeeping duties, which
are briefly accomplished by handing the black cook a certain sum daily
for marketing purposes, the worthy lady passes the rest of the day with
a fan in a rocking chair, in which she sways and fans herself cool. Dona
Mercedes has a youthful appearance from her neck upwards, but being
somewhat corpulent, her figure scarcely corresponds with the attractions
of her face. Being, however, attired in a loose linen gown which falls
like a sack, ungirdled and uninterrupted, from her fair shoulders to her
remarkably small shoes, the protuberances of her person escape notice,
and, with her jet-black hair neatly and tastefully arranged, she may be
said to represent an agreeable type of the Cuban matron.
It is often a matter for wonder with me, how Senora Mercedes and her
friends contrive to keep their hair in such perfect order. Cuban ladies
being gifted by nature with a wealth of hair require no artificial aid;
but I am told that their heads being once 'dressed' for the day remain
intact till night, a fact which I can easily credit, seeing that no
ceole lady assumes either bonnet, hat, or other covering for the head,
when she takes her walks abroad.
But Dona Mercedes is not always such a helpless member of society as I
have represented her. She is possessed of a warm, generous nature, and
this quality often prompts the good lady to perform many useful acts of
kindness and charity to those who are in need of her benevolence.
Between one and three in the afternoon, Don Benigno and his family
indulge in the wholesome luxury of a warm bath; for, despite the
climate, a creole, when in town, rarely immerses his or her body in
perfectly cold water. The water intended for bathing purposes is
sometimes placed in the centre of the patio, or court-yard, where, under
the powerful influence of the sun, it is soon warmed to any reasonable
degree of temperature.
Ablutions over, the indispensable siesta is enjoyed by everybody, on
catres or in hammocks; for the heat of mid-day is insupportable, and
repose after a bath is considered salutary.
After the siesta, Dona Mercedes and her young daughters, accompanied by
her adopted child--a girl of ten--do what the ladies of many other
countries do late in the afternoon. They attire themselves fashionably
and take a stroll in the Plaza or a drive in the Alameda, which is the
Rotten Row of a Cuban town.
Whatever shopping Dona Mercedes contemplates is effected in the cool of
the early morning after her devotions at the church, whither she repairs
at the hour of six A.M. Church-going is a serious undertaking with the
good lady. Firstly, she and her daughters must be becomingly attired,
and on this occasion black lace veils are included in their toilettes.
Besides prayer-books, rosaries, and fans, the devotees must be provided
with small squares of carpet and toy-like chairs of papier mache inlaid
with gold and pearl ornaments. These articles of furniture are conveyed
to the sacred edifice by some young negress servants, for with the
exception of a few wooden benches, a Cuban church offers no relief to
the weary flesh.
Having entered the church, Dona Mercedes proceeds to moisten the tips
of her ungloved fingers in some holy water from a font, and after duly
crossing herself, extends her hand to her daughters, who touch it and
thus partake of the blessed liquid. The black attendants then spread the
fragments of carpet, place the chairs, and retire to a dark corner of
the building. The ceremonies begin. Dona Mercedes and her daughters
follow the ecclesiastic in their miniature prayer-books, and alternately
kneel and cross themselves when required to do so; gaze with a devout
expression at their favourite saint, and tell their beads; take a mental
note of their neighbours' dresses, fan themselves, and exchange nods of
recognition with acquaintances--till a little bell from one of the
side-chapels tinkles for the final ceremony of elevating the host.
Matins over, the ladies betake themselves to the principal
thoroughfares, where the best shops are to be found, and when their
purchases have been made they return home, calling on the way at the
houses of their friends.
When there is no performance at the theatre or the promenade in the
military square, Don Benigno holds a tertulia in his balcony.
A tertulia is a reception, or social gathering, and may be held at any
hour of the day; but the best time for a tertulia is the cool of the
evening.
The five o'clock dinner being over and digested, Don Benigno sallies
forth--cigar in mouth--upon his covered balcony, or coridor, as it is
called, which in length and breadth strikingly resembles the platform of
a small railway station.
'Traigan las balanzas!' drawls the Don, and in answer to his summons a
couple of negroes appear with a number of rocking-chairs, which they
place--when the moon is at its brightest--in a shady corner of the
verandah. Here we all seat ourselves, and await the arrival of any guest
who may 'drop in' for a sociable chat and a cigar.
Don Francisco--the chief doctor of the town--is usually the first to
appear. He is followed by Senor Esteban, the lawyer, Don Magin, the
merchant, Don Felipe, the sugar-planter, and one or two young creoles
whose avocations are doubtful. As each guest appears, everybody rises
and salutes him elaborately. The visitors are all attired for the
evening in black alpaca coats, white drill trousers, and waistcoats,
patent leather thin-soled boots, and bran new 'bombas'--a bomba being
the slang term for a tall beaver hat.
For some moments the company assembled remain speechless, and no sounds
are heard in the silent evening but the swaying of the rocking-chairs
and the creaking of the gentlemen's stiffly-starched trousers. Presently
someone produces a neat home-made cigarette case, and before selecting a
cigar or a cigarette for his own consumption offers it to all the males
present, who accept of his generosity. The conversation, in which those
who are not already asleep join, now becomes general. The weather, and
the state of the coffee and cane crops, are all duly discussed, together
with the theatre and the last ball at the Philharmonic. Politics are
lightly touched upon, for two of the gentlemen present are Spaniards,
and for obvious reasons a Cuban usually avoids all topics which concern
the government of his country. Occasionally someone who is well-read in
the day's newspaper, essays a mild discussion with somebody else who has
not seen the paper for a week; but as Cuban periodicals are under
official control, they are not remarkable for their political veracity,
and the well-read member of the company usually gets the worst of the
argument.
Learning that my companion and I contemplate establishing a studio for
the practice of our profession in the town, everybody offers us his
advice, and recommends to our notice certain houses suitable for art
purposes. Don Esteban, the lawyer, favours us with his legal opinion,
reminding us of the law which prohibits a foreigner from setting up in
business on his own account; but we assure him of our intention to 'go
into partnership,' and that as one of us is a Cuban born, we have no
uneasiness.
It is considered fatal to sit under the rays of a Cuban moon, so when
that luminary is visible to any occupant of the balcony, his
rocking-chair is immediately shifted into a shadier part. But, in doing
so, extreme care is taken lest the occupant should reseat himself with
his back inclined in the least manner towards his neighbour, as a Cuban
would rather suffer any personal inconvenience than be discovered in
this impolite posture.
No refreshment of any kind is offered by our host during the tertulia,
but if one of the company feels thirsty he calls for a glass of iced
water, which is accordingly brought to him by a slave, who, if
necessary, qualifies the harmless beverage with 'panales,' which is a
kind of cake prepared with white sugar.
Other tertulias are being held at neighbouring houses. Those who have no
balconies to boast of, place their rocking-chairs in the passage or hall
of their dwelling, while others, who have neither the one accommodation
nor the other, deposit their receptacles for the weary on the pavement
in the street. The black domestics form a tertulia on the door-steps or
squat together in dark unoccupied parts of the corridors. Their jabber
is incessant and occasionally requires a gentle reminder. Sometimes one
of their company essays a wild melody, accompanying his song on a
primitive instrument of his own manufacture.
Throughout the evening the streets are utterly deserted, and as,
moreover, they are badly illuminated with gas, the aspect on a dark
night is not cheerful. But on a bright, moonlit night, such as that to
which I have referred, artificial lighting is altogether dispensed with.
The moon in the tropics is, for astronomical reasons, brighter than it
is elsewhere; but as regards Cuba, another reason might be derived from
the fact that, metaphorically speaking, a slave country and a badly
governed one into the bargain, is about the darkest spot in the
habitable globe. At least, in Cuba the lamp of Heaven shines with
increased brilliancy, illuminating alike Spaniard, Cuban, freedman, and
bondsman!