THE BLACK ART IN CUBA.
A Model Mulatto--A Bewitched Watchman--Cuban Sorcery--An Enchanted
Painter.
It is not always easy to secure the services of a better class of model
than our peripatetic of the pavement. Before we can induce such a person
to walk into our studio, many arts, unconnected with our calling, must
be employed, especially if the object of our solicitation happen to be
young and fair. Having directed our professional gaze upon such a
Senorita, it behoves us first to visit her family, and make friends with
her parents, brothers or sisters, in order that their consent may be
easily and naturally obtained. Thus, when I cast my artistic eye upon
the pretty Perpetua, I have to proceed with extreme caution, lest her
parents should misinterpret the nature of my demand. For Perpetua
belongs to the octoroon 'species' of mulatto. Her father is a white man,
and her mother is a free-born quadroon-woman, and they reside with their
daughter in an humble dwelling near our studio. Don Ramon being a small
tobacconist, and his wife, Dona Choncha, a laundress, we have sometimes
patronised the little family, and in this manner I make the acquaintance
of my future model. It is, however, far from easy to persuade the old
lady that my admiration for her daughter is wholly confined to the
picturesque; for when I broach the model-subject, Dona Choncha smiles
incredulously, and says she will consult her friends. While she is doing
so, an extraordinary revelation respecting the brown old dame is made to
me by Mateo, the 'sereno' or watchman of our district.
Armed with a pike, lantern, revolver, and coil of rope for pinioning
purposes, the watchman wanders about our neighbourhood, halting every
quarter of an hour to blow a shrill whistle to inform the inhabitants of
the time of night, and whether it is 'sereno' (fine) or 'nublado'
(cloudy).
One dark night the sereno pauses before our balcony, and after assuring
the somnolent, in recitative, that it is 'three-quarters past eleven and
nu-bla-do!' approaches me, and in a mysterious whisper enquires whether
I carry 'contradanos,' or charms against evil, about my person. Finding
that I do not possess such articles, the watchman recommends me to apply
without delay for a talisman or two. Raw mustard, powdered glass, and
sulphur, he says, are highly effectual as charms. At that very moment
Mateo's pockets are full of these safeguards, and when threatened with
any danger, he has only to sprinkle around him some of the antidote
against evil.
The watchman then tells me that Dona Choncha is in league with 'brujas'
(witches), and that if I continue to visit at her house I shall do well
to take the precautions he has suggested.
Mateo is himself a firm believer in the Black Art, and gives me some
interesting particulars respecting a secret society of sorcerers, who
hold certain midnight revels in an empty saloon of a house somewhere in
the town. There is a kind of freemason mystery attached to their
proceedings, and none but members are in the secret. It appears,
however, that their dark deeds consist chiefly in a dead-of-night dance
around a defunct 'maja' or enchanted snake, by a number of people, most
of whom are attired in nature's vestments.
The watchman likewise tells me that the practice of witchcraft in Cuba
is sometimes attended with serious and fatal consequences, and that
crimes of the worst description are frequently the result of it. An
individual unwittingly takes his neighbour's life in obedience to
commands from a sanguinary sorcerer, who requires a certain weight of
human blood to complete the ingredients of an enchanted preparation.
'Bring me a couple of handfuls of hair, and four ounces of blood from
Fulano,' says the weird, who has been applied to for spiritual
absolution, 'and I will prepare you a contradano--a charm--that shall
rid you of your evil genius, and help you out of your present
difficulty.' Fulano objects to part with his 'personal' property, when
the request is made to him in a friendly way; so he gets a hard knock on
the head one day, when he least expects it, and if he escapes with his
life he is lucky.
Such instances of witchcraft as these, the sereno says, are found only
among the coloured population of Cuba, and when discovered the
perpetrators of the nefarious acts are brought to justice and severely
punished; but belief in necromancy exists even among the more
enlightened inhabitants of Cuba, and it is far from uncommon to hear of
highly respectable whites taking part in the practice of it.
Mateo then gives me his own personal experiences of the Black Art as a
warning against the danger which, he says, will surely threaten me if I
continue to visit the tobacconist family.
The watchman assures me that for many long weeks he had laboured under
the depressing influence of a spell. The unfortunate occurrence began
with an anonymous letter conveying the unwelcome information that a
certain enemy of Mateo's was engaged in brewing some dreadful mischief
for his especial benefit. In his professional capacity, the watchman has
more than one foe in the town, and it is therefore difficult to 'spot,'
and afterwards capture, the actual offender. The warning letter,
however, admonishes him that so long as he does not walk in a certain
locality, no harm to him can possibly accrue. It is not easy for Mateo
to avoid the indicated thoroughfare, as it happens to come exactly
within our watchman's beat at night; but he surmounts the obstacle at
the risk of incurring his employers' displeasure, by exchanging beats
with a brother watchman. The irregular act is, however, made known to
the authorities, and Mateo is threatened with instant dismissal if he
persists in avoiding the street in question. Fortunately, the sereno
receives a second missive from the anonymous correspondent, containing
the assurance that there is still hope for immediate and radical
disenchantment if Mateo will only follow the writer's advice. This
consists, first of all, in depositing a piece of coin under the door of
his correspondent's habitation. At an early hour, the money will
disappear through some unseen agency, and will afterwards be consigned
to a disenchanting locality in the Cuban bay. The sereno is next
enjoined to examine the lining of his bran-new panama, which he has
lately purchased to wear only on festive occasions. If all goes well, he
will assuredly discover certain black pins and human hairs crossed,
entwined and affixed in a peculiar fashion to the crown of his hat. The
same evil omens will likewise appear at the ferule end of his
gold-knobbed walking-stick. Satisfied that there is 'no deception,' the
proprietor of the enchanted hat and cane wraps up those articles
carefully in several folds of paper, according to instructions, and
early one Sunday morning deposits the parcel in a certain hole in an
undesirable field on the confines of the town.
'When I had done so,' concludes the watchman, pausing to inform the
inhabitants that it is three-quarters past midnight and
nu-bla-do!--'when I had done so, I walked without fear along the
forbidden street, and I have walked there in safety ever since!'
The watchman enjoins me to be warned by his story, and once more advises
me to provide myself with a few contradanos.
'Had I taken the same precautions,' observes Mateo, 'I should have
escaped all my troubles.'
'And preserved your panama and gold-headed cane!' I add.
'Past one o'clock and seren-o!' sings the watchman as he takes his leave
of me.
My interest in the tobacconist's family is considerably increased by
what I have heard, and my visits are none the less frequent because of
the friendly admonitions which I have received. I do not provide myself
with the talismans which the sereno has recommended; but I watch the
old lady's ways more narrowly than I have before done, till I begin at
last to detect something like a malignant expression in her shrunken,
yellow-brown countenance.
I observe no change in her pretty daughter, though I must confess that
in one way, at least, La Perpetua is more 'charming' than ever. The
young girl is full of her approaching 'fiesta,' or saint's day, which
annual event is to be celebrated by an afternoon ball and early supper
at her humble home. The presents she expects to receive in the shape of
trays of dulces and confectionary will, she assures me, exceed those of
the past fiesta. Perpetua is the acknowledged belle of the 'barrio,' or
district, where she resides, and she has many admirers. But
unfortunately the young creole is not so white as her fair complexion
would lead one to suppose. Don Ramon is undoubtedly a white man, but his
wife belongs to the mulatto tribe, and Perpetua's origin is
unquestionably obscure. Still Dona Choncha has great hopes that her
pretty daughter will command a white alliance among her husband's
friends in spite of this drawback, and it is whispered that the
ambitious old dame has her eye upon more than one eligible suitor for
her child's whitey-brown hand. Mateo, the watchman--ever hard on Dona
Choncha--declares that it is her 'evil eye' that is being exercised in
Perpetua's behalf; but I heed him not, though I am now more than ever
cautious in my behaviour at the tobacconist's.
Whatever truth there may be in the watchman's assertion that I am the
object of enchantment, at present I have received no practical evidence
of it. When I probe Perpetua privately on the subject, I find that she
has little to tell, except that her mother is in the habit of visiting
a locality in the town unknown to Perpetua and Don Ramon, and that, upon
one occasion, she administered a harmless drug to her daughter, assuring
her that it was a protection against cholera.
As for Don Ramon--that good-natured gentleman is altogether a
disbeliever in witchcraft, and though he admits that the art is popular
among a certain class in Cuba, he is of opinion that the Cuban bruja, or
witch, is simply a high order of gipsy, whose chief object is pecuniary
gain. The government of the country, with its accustomed inertness, has
not yet established a law for the suppression of this evil; 'and so,'
says the tobacconist, 'sorcery flourishes, and the brujas prosper.'
I am beginning to abandon all hope of obtaining La Perpetua for a model,
when one day I receive an anonymous letter, the handwriting and diction
of which seem to be the production of an uninstructed Ethiop. The writer
assures me that somebody or other is at present engaged in the useful
occupation of working for my complete overthrow and subjugation, and
that if I require further particulars on the subject I may easily obtain
them for the small consideration of a 'punctured peseta' (a coin with a
'lucky' hole in it).
When I exhibit the mysterious document to the watchman, that individual
is of course highly pleased to find that I have, at last, received some
evidence of the existence of such mighty people as brujas, and his
advice resolves itself, as usual, into sulphur and powdered mustard. He
has now not the least doubt that Dona Choncha has made application to
the brujas for a spell, and he recommends me to pay the peseta asked of
me by my anonymous correspondent.
A communication from a live witch is worth all the money demanded for
it, and I accordingly place the coin, as directed, in a crevice under my
door. Sure enough, it disappears before daylight, and in return I obtain
a second sheet of magic manuscript, which, like its predecessor, is
unpleasantly greasy to the touch and offensive to the nose; but it is
full of information, and concludes with an offer to effect my permanent
disenchantment if I will but follow the writer's instructions. If I am
disposed to do so, I must first meet the writer, or his deputy, alone in
a certain unfrequented locality of the town at a late hour; arming
myself with a contradano in the shape of a media onza. Thirty-four
shillings may appear a high rate for disenchantment, but the watchman
assures me that the operation often costs four times that amount, and
that if the unknown bruja fulfils his promise I shall have made a great
bargain. As I do not value my malignant spirit at any price, I decline
for the present to avail myself of this opportunity to be relieved of
it.
My occupations prevent me from paying my accustomed visits at the
tobacconist's for some days, but one sunny morning I venture to look in
at the little establishment.
Don Ramon, I am told, is passing some weeks at his 'vega,' or tobacco
farm; but his black assistants are at their wooden benches as usual,
rolling tobacco leaves into cigars. I pass through the section of a shop
(which has neither wall nor window in front of it) into the inner
apartment, usually occupied by Dona Choncha and her daughter, and find
the former engaged in sorting tobacco leaves on the brick-floor, and
the latter in swaying and fanning herself in a cane rocking-chair. Both
ladies salute me respectfully, and make kind enquiries after my health.
These formalities over, Dona Choncha collects together her tobacco
leaves, and, without a word of explanation, adjourns to the 'patio.' For
the first time, since my acquaintance with the tobacconist's family, I
am left alone with the pretty Perpetua!
All is not well with her weird-looking mother, as I very shortly have
reason to find. I have been scarcely ten minutes in Perpetua's agreeable
society, when she is summoned by her mother to the court-yard. Upon her
return I am offered some 'refresco,' made from the juicy fruit of the
guanabana.
'Who mixed this drink?' I enquire, after taking a sip of it.
'La mama mixed it,' replies Perpetua.
Has the old hag added some infernal drug to the refreshment? I wonder;
for there is something besides guanabana in the libation!
While I am speculating about this, lo! a strange odour is wafted into
the little chamber, and presently some smoke is seen to issue from an
aperture in the door.
Is the house on fire? Perpetua is again summoned by Dona Choncha; but
before leaving the apartment she begs me not to be alarmed, as it is
only her mother at her duties. I would willingly believe what she says,
but being sufficiently familiar with the process of drying tobacco
leaves, I am convinced that sulphur, hair, mustard, and heaven knows
what besides, are not employed in it. The fumes of these burning
substances are, however, entering the apartment, and the atmosphere is
most oppressive--so much so, that my pulse beats high, and my head
begins to swim.
Without waiting another moment, I seize my walking-stick and panama hat,
and escape from the enchanted chamber into the street. The hot air does
not dispel the giddy feeling which had come over me, and not until I
have reached my well-ventilated abode, changed my damp linen, and
sponged my fevered body with 'aguardiente' and water, do I feel myself
again. I am better still after having taken a refreshing siesta in my
swinging hammock, in which condition I dream of black pins, burnt hair,
raw mustard, and sulphur. When I awake, I examine carefully the lining
of my panama, and the ferule end of my walking-stick, to satisfy myself
that no burglarious bruja has taken advantage of my repose to tamper
with my property. But whether it is that my stick and hat are of no
great value, or that the defences of our studio are impregnable, no
bruja has offered to take 'charge' of these things by labelling them
with their infernal tickets.
My partner, to whom I record the events of the day, is of opinion that
if all models are as difficult to secure as La Perpetua, we had better
abandon our researches in this direction, and abide by our street criers
and mendicants. He also suggests a little landscape-painting by way of
variety, and, with this object in view, we plan certain walking
expeditions into the surrounding country. What subjects for landscape
pictures we meet with, and whether or not we are more successful in our
quest after inanimate nature, will be told in another chapter.