CUBAN BEGGARS.
Carrapatam Bunga--The Havana Lottery--A Lady Beggar--A Beggar's
Opera--Popular Characters--Charity--A Public Raffle--The 'King of
the Universe.'
Despite the dearth of patrons for the 'legitimate' in art, my companion
and I continue to occupy our leisure moments in collecting such material
as may prove attractive in a more art-loving country. Suggestions for
pictures and sketches are not, however, wholly derived from the street
vendors I have described. The beggars of Cuba are equally worthy of
places in our sketch-books.
Spain's romantic 'Beggar on horseback,' in some respects meets with a
prototype in her colony.
That apparently hapless mendicant shuffling along the white, heated road
of a narrow street, is a blind negro, with the imposing nickname of
Carrapatam Bunga. He is attired in a clean suit of brown holland, and he
wears a broad-brimmed panama. His flat, splay feet are bare, showing
where one of his toes has been consumed by a nigua, a troublesome insect
which introduces itself into the foot, and, if not eradicated in time,
remains there to vegetate. Across his shoulders is slung a huge canvas
bag for depositing comestible alms, and in his hand is a long rustic
staff. Charity with a Cuban is a leading principle of his religion, and
to relieve the indigent--no matter whether the object for relief be
worthy or not--is next in importance to disburdening the mind to a
father confessor. Mindful of the native weakness in this respect,
Carrapatam Bunga bears his sorrows from door to door, confident that his
affliction and his damaged foot will command pity wheresoever he
wanders. But he is impudent, and a boisterous, swaggering fellow. Hear
him as he demands compassion, with his swarthy, fat face upturned to the
blazing sun, and with a long cigar between his bulging lips.
'Ave Maria! here's the poor blind man; poor fellow! Give him a medio (a
threepenny-piece) somebody. Does nobody hear him, el pobrecito? Come,
make haste! Don't keep the poor fellow waiting. Poor Carrapatam Bunga!
He is stone blind, poor fellow, and his feet are blistered and sore.
Misericordia, senores. Barajo! why don't somebody answer? Which is mi
s'nora Mercedes' house? Will somebody lead me to it? Mi s'nora
Mercedes!'
Bunga knows most of his patrons by name. Dona Mercedes appears at her
iron-grated window, through the bars of which the benevolent lady offers
a silver coin and a small loaf.
'Gracias, mi s'nora; Dios se la pague su merced! (May Heaven reward your
worship.) Who's got a light for the poor ciego?'
Somebody favours the ciego with a light, and Carrapatam Bunga goes on
his way smoking and humming a tune, and presently harangues in another
street.
Will it be believed that this wanderer has a farm in the country, with
slaves in his employ, and hundreds of dollars in his exchequer? When not
on beggar-beat, Bunga retires to his possessions, where he lives
luxuriously.
Like some of his begging fraternity, the negro occasionally varies his
mendicant trade by offering for sale lottery tickets bearing what he
calls 'lucky numbers.' The Havana lottery is a great institution in
Cuba, and has an extraordinary fascination for rich as well as poor.
Each ticket costs seventeen dollars, and is printed in such a form as to
be susceptible of division into seventeen parts, so as to suit all
pockets. The prizes vary from 100 to 100,000 dollars, and there are two
'sorteos,' or draws, monthly. On each occasion 35,000 tickets are
offered for sale, and out of this number 600 are prizes. He whose number
happens to approach within ten paces of the 100,000 dollar, or 50,000
dollar prize, receives a gratuity of 200 dollars as a reward for being
'near the mark.'
This lottery is a source of revenue to the Spanish state in Cuba, which
claims a fourth share of the products yielded by the sale of tickets. As
an instance of the enormous capital sometimes derived from this source,
it is said that in a certain prosperous year, 546,000 tickets brought to
the Havana treasury no less than 8,736,000 dollars!
Our friend Carrapatam Bunga often invests in fragments of unsold
tickets, and on one occasion he drew a prize to the value of 700
dollars, which good luck, together with his beggar savings, enabled him
to purchase a farm and to hire a few labourers to work it with. Whether
from habit or from love of gain, Bunga never forsook his favourite
vocation, but continued to bear his sorrows from door to door, as if
they still belonged to him.
In Cuba, at least, beggars may be said to be choosers. Saturday is the
day which they prefer for transacting their business, because it
precedes Sunday, when the faithful attend high mass in the church, and
go to confession. Except on Saturday, and on some festive occasions, it
is a rare event for a beggar to be seen asking alms in the public
streets.
Every Saturday morning I pay my respects to Don Benigno and his amiable
senora, Dona Mercedes, who, as I have already explained, keep open house
in more than one way; the huge doors of their habitation being ajar at
all hours. As I sit chatting with my worthy hostess, the street
door--which has direct communication with the reception room--is boldly
thrown open, and a white lady, attired in well-starched muslin, and
adorned with jewels, enters. I rise, in accordance with the polite
custom of the country, while Don Benigno offers the visitor a
rocking-chair. The conversation proceeds on subjects of general
interest, in which the visitor joins. Curiously, I am never introduced
to the lady in muslin; but the unusual behaviour of my host is soon
accounted for. After a few minutes the stranger senora rises, and
approaching Dona Mercedes, offers her hand. Dona Mercedes does not take
the proffered palm, but simply places upon it a piece of silver coin of
the value of a franc.
'May Heaven reward you,' says the lady-beggar, and takes her gift and
her leave without another word.
Something like a Beggars' Opera may be realised whilst sitting before
Don Benigno's huge window on Saturday morning, and watching the
thriftless performers as they pass. The entertainment 'opens' at the
early hour of six A.M.; from that time till the Cuban breakfast-hour of
eleven, we are treated with begging solos only: mendicants who stand and
deliver monologues like Carrapatam Bunga or Munekon--an equally popular
beggar. Sometimes the applicant for charity announces himself with a
bold bang on the door, followed by the pious ejaculation, 'Ave Maria!'
The lame, or otherwise afflicted, are content with simply directing
attention to their misfortunes, while the less 'favoured' attract public
regard by humming a wild air, to which a gibberish libretto is attached,
or by descanting upon social and political matters. The ill-paved
condition of the Cuban streets, the inefficient supply of water, the bad
lighting of the town at night, the total absence of anything like proper
drainage, are favourite topics with these open-air orators.
Like other Cuban celebrities, a characteristic _nom de guerre_ is
invented for every beggar.
That brown complexioned lady with a man's straw hat on her head, and a
faded cotton gown clinging to her shrunken form, is called Madama
Chaleco, from a popular tradition that the old lady formerly donned a
man's waistcoat or chaleco. From this cause she has become the butt of
every street boy, who irritates the poor mulatto woman into frenzy by
shouting her nickname in a derisive tone. The Madama has resided only a
few years in Cuba; her birthplace being some neighbouring island where
English and French are spoken: these languages being perfectly familiar
to the old lady.
Madama Pescuezo is another foreign importation, and her alias is
founded on a long sinewy throat or pescuezo which the dame possesses.
Isabel Huesito is famous for her leanness, and hence the appellation:
huesito, or skinny.
Madama Maja is said to have magic dealings with snakes or majas.
Gallito Pigmeo is noted for his shortness of stature and his attributes
of a chicken.
Barrigilla is pot-bellied, and El Nato has a flatter nose than his black
brethren.
Carfardote, Taita Tomas, Macundu, Cotuntum, Carabela Zuzunda, Na
Soledad, and Raton Cojonudo, are each named after some personal
peculiarity.
Sometimes whole sentences stand as nicknames for these popular
characters.
Amarrame-ese-perro is applied to a beggar who, like most negroes, has a
dread of dogs, and his repeated, and often causeless, cry of 'Chain me
up that dog!' earns for him this imposing title.
Another equally nervous negro fears horse-flesh, and his constant
ejaculation of 'Pull up! you horse-faced animal,' gains him the nickname
of Jala-pa-lante-cara-de-caballo!
Our Beggars' Opera concludes with a brilliant chorus of mendicants, who,
at twelve o'clock, visit their patrons in large companies. At that hour,
one of Don Benigno's slaves enters with a large flat basket containing a
quantity of small two-penny loaves, which the negro places upon the
marble floor in front of the open door. Soon a crowd of beggars of all
shades and castes, who during the last half-hour have been squatting in
a row under the broad shade of the opposite houses, approach, and,
without bidding, help to empty the capacious bread-basket. Further up
the street they go, picking up more crumbs at rich mansions, whose
owners occasionally vary their entertainment by providing for their
vagrant visitors a little 'ajiaco,' or native soup.
Cuban people are not fond of bestowing their charity through the medium
of a public institution. The only place of the kind in that part of Cuba
which I am describing is called the Beneficencia, or almshouse, which is
under the superintendence of the Sisters of Charity. Wealthy ladies
contribute largely towards the support of this establishment, but, in
order to provide funds, public raffles are indispensable. Nothing
succeeds in Cuba so well as something in which chance or luck, combined
with amusement, is the inducement of the venture, and a raffle in aid of
funds for the famished is always popular.
Dona Mercedes, the most benevolent of ladies, tells me that she and the
prosperous Senoras already referred to have in project a grand bazaar
for the benefit of the poor, to which everybody is expected to
contribute. The articles received for the purposes of the bazaar are to
be exhibited in one of the big saloons of the Governor's house, which
overlooks the Plaza de Armas, and they will be raffled for during three
special evenings. For weeks Dona Mercedes and her charitable sisters are
busy collecting and numbering the contributions as they arrive, or
twisting the paper chances into the form of cigar lights.
The military square presents an animated scene on the evenings of the
raffle. Twelve tables, bearing rich cloths and silver candelabra, are
distributed about the broad promenade of the plaza. Around each table
are seated a score of the fairest of Cuba's daughters, elegantly
attired in evening costume, without any head-covering, and with only a
scarf or shawl lightly protecting their fair shoulders. Dona Mercedes
looks charming in a pink grenadine dress, and with her luxuriant black
hair tastefully arranged, as a Cuban Senora alone knows how. Each lady
adopts her most insinuating manner in order to dispose of her twisted
tickets, the greater portion of which contain, of course, blanks, or a
consolatory couplet, like a motto in a cracker, for the gratification of
the unsuccessful purchaser. There is loud cheering when a prize is
drawn, especially if it happen to be of importance, like the 'grand
prize,' which consists of a prettily worked purse containing six golden
onzas (twenty pounds sterling).
Crowds of beggars are assembled within range of the plaza, and some of
them occasionally invest in a medio or peseta's worth of tickets, but as
coloured people are never permitted to mix with white folk in public,
their tickets are handed to them by officials appointed for that
purpose. Some of these blacks are 'retired' slaves: in other words,
negroes who have become free, either by devoting the savings of many
years to the purchase of their liberty, or by having their freedom left
them as a legacy by an indulgent master. Those who have ability and
industry make the most of their precious gifts by devoting their
energies to trade or to music, for which accomplishment negroes have
often a natural inclination; but the infirm or the inactive--and of
these there is always a majority--are reduced to penury, in which
condition they fall naturally into begging ways, and prosper
accordingly.
That intelligent-looking black who craves of me a peseta in order to buy
a small bundle of tickets for the raffle, is a well-known beggar. His
name is Roblejo, and he owes his freedom to the publication of a book of
poems written by himself. Assisted by a benevolent _litterateur_,
Roblejo was enabled to put his poetic lucubrations into readable form,
and the novelty taking the public fancy, subscribers were found
sufficient for the purpose of printing the book, and effecting the
author's emancipation.
'Hola, Don Pancho! How goes it with thee?' The individual whom I address
is probably the most popular beggar in the town. His real name is Pancho
Villergas, but he is commonly known as El Rey del Orbe (the King of the
Universe). I have often endeavoured to secure a faithful likeness of
this illustrious gentleman, but Pancho cannot be prevailed upon to sit
either to an artist or to a photographer. Whenever the subject is
broached by me, El Rey del Orbe grins, shakes his head knowingly, and
observes, in the only English with which he is conversant:
'Oh, ye--s; vary vel, no good, good mornin'.'
Pancho is a genuine white man, but age and exposure to the sun and wind
have bronzed him to a mulatto colour. He has a picturesque Saint Francis
beard, and a benign, strongly marked countenance. He wears a coat
purposely patched with many shaded cloths; each shade being considered
by him to represent one of his numerous dominions. Being buttoned up to
his neck, the coat gives him a military appearance, while it economises
his linen. Upon his head is a tall beaver hat, which has seen better
days, but which the Universe-King is careful to keep well brushed.
Pancho is slightly crazed, and his monomania consists in the belief that
he is not a beggar, but a benefactor to his country. With this notion,
no persuasion will induce him to accept a donation in the shape of
coin. Those who are acquainted with Pancho's weakness, and desire to
relieve his wants, must do so through the medium of stratagem. If they
succeed in imposing upon El Rey del Orbe by prevailing upon him to
'borrow' food or raiment, they consider themselves amply rewarded for
their act of charity. The only article which the King of the Universe
will deign to accept is foolscap writing-paper, because he believes that
the use to which he applies it will be beneficial to mankind in general,
and to Cuba in particular. He fills his foolscap with correspondence,
which he addresses to the highest authorities; the favoured recipients
being His Excellency the Governor, the alcalde mayor, and members of the
town council. Whenever any political or social question is raised, the
King of the Universe is sure to despatch an important document bearing
his opinion and advice. His majesty is usually his own letter-carrier,
unless he can meet with a trustworthy messenger in the shape of a
priest, an officer, or a policeman. The matter contained in these
momentous memorials occupies from eighteen to twenty closely-written
sheets, and is always prefaced with the imposing heading: 'Yo, el Rey'
(I, the King).
Pancho's indigence and infatuation have a romantic origin. This old,
shabby-looking object before me was at one time a well-to-do planter,
and held a high position among merchants. One fatal day he became
enamoured of a creole coquette, who cruelly jilted him. The
disappointment turned his brain. People attributed his harmless insanity
to eccentricity, and merchants transacted business with him as of old,
till one heartless scoundrel, taking advantage of his misfortune,
swindled him out of a large sum of money, and this deed eventually led
to Pancho's insolvency and utter ruin.