Some typographical errors have been corrected; a list follows the
text. Archaic usages in English and incorrect spellings of Spanish
have not been corrected. (note of etext transcriber)
[Illustration]
RAMBLES IN CUBA.
[Illustration: colophon]
NEW YORK:
_Carleton, Publisher, Madison Square._
LONDON: S. LOW, SON & CO.
MDCCCLXX.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by
GEORGE W. CARLETON,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States
for the Southern District of New York.
Stereotyped at
THE WOMEN’S PRINTING HOUSE,
Eighth Street and Avenue A,
New York.
CONTENTS.
I.
PAGE
In the Tropics--First View of Havana--Entering the
Bay--Surrounded--Landed--A Street in Havana--“Queen’s Hotel”--A
Breakfast--The Harbor--The Coolies--The Plaza de Armas--Cuban Women--A
Volante--Fine Avenues--A Priest--Shopping.....7
II.
Celebrating a Victory--General Serrano--A Cuban Sacristan--His View
of Mary Magdalene--Sunday--The Theatre de Tacon--General Serrano’s
Wife--A “Norther”--The Fish Market--Brilliancy of the Fish--A
Venerable Cosmopolite--The Slaves--The Chain Gang--The Cerro--A
Count’s Country-house--No Twilight--Oranges--Polyglot Dinner--Lottery
Ticket.....17
III.
Drive to the Sea-shore--Evening Boat-ride--Splendor of the
Waters--Campo del Marte--Low Mass--The “Madonna”--Beautiful
Children--Church of San Filipo--Sacred Names--The Mount of
Jesus--Corruption of the Clergy--Cuba Misrepresented in Books--Growing
“used to it”--A Creole--Cascarilla--Warm Weather--The Cortina.....30
IV.
Departing Guests--The Varieties--On Board, but not Gone--No
Chimneys--Dog-Pails--Horses’ Tails--Tall Negroes--Ecclesiastical
Torchlight Procession--Watchmen--Leaving Havana--In the
Country--Stopped--Seeking a Breakfast--A Cuban Village--A Primitive
Well--A Peculiar Palm--Guiness--Our Quarters therein.....45
V.
A Palm-grove--A Planter’s Household--Coolies as compared with
Negroes--Anecdotes of Coolies--Robbers--Heterogeneous Dinner--Creole
Politeness.....60
VI.
“Nice pretty House in the Country”--Wrong Side of the Horse--Discovery
in Mental Photography--Visit to the Country-house--Not to be
obtained--Contrast of Palms and Bamboos--The Youth of Tropical
Nature--A Remarkable Phenomenon--House of the Marquis of V---- --
“Le Armistad”--Burial of an Officer’s Child--A Shock--“Cafetal”--“La
Providencia”--A Sugar Plantation--The “Royal Highway”--A Grand
View.....67
VII.
It Rains--The Effect--No Miserere--Guirappa-seeking--A
Skeleton Horse--B----’s Pantomimes--A Day More--The Bells of
Guiness--Market Day--An Invitation--Another Plantation--A Remarkable
Tree--Palm-Sunday--A Sundayless World--Dreamland--I Didn’t
Smoke--Cushioned Heads.....84
VIII.
Dear old Mr. R---- -- Chess and Whist and Life--Good Friday--A
Religious Procession--The Silence of the Town--The Miserere--To
Matanzas--Company in the Cave--Father M----’s approach to
Matanzas--The Bay--Valley of the Yumuri--The Plaza--The Dominica--The
Ensor House--Easter Sunday--The Paseo--Steamer to Havana--A Night on
Board--“Queen’s Hotel”--Tricks on a Travelling Author--Theft on the
Almanac.....97
IX.
A Discovery for the Benefit of Smugglers--The Steamer Karnak--Adieu,
Cuba!--An English Ship--Nassau--The Negro Custom-officer--English
Hotel--An Ex-President--What the Island is and has--The Negro
Element--The “Eastern Road”--The Air--The Beau Monde--Turtle
Houses.....113
X.
The Military Church--The Zouave Costume--Sunday come again--Twilight
Rambles--The Kirk--Miscegenation--A Private Misery--The Old Fort--Lazy
Negroes--Wrecking--The Town Library--Shopping--The Zouave Band--The
Search for Coolness--The Government House--Silver Key--Buying
Shellwork--Nassau grows Purgatorial--Farewell to Nassau.....124
[Illustration]
RAMBLES IN CUBA.
I.
_In the Tropics--First View of Havana--Entering the
Bay--Surrounded--Landed--A Street in Havana--“Queen’s Hotel”--A
Breakfast--The Harbor--The Coolies--The Plaza de Armas--Cuban
Women--A Volante--Fine Avenues--A Priest--Shopping._
HAVANA, March 1, 18--.
The first dawn of day found me already on deck, to assure myself we had
really arrived at the shores of a tropical-world.
I was not disenchanted. A mist had possessed, like a dream, the blue
quiet of the entire bay, half dissolving its masts and sails, softening
the picturesque battlements of Morro Castle, throwing over the walls,
domes, and spires of the city an air of hoary distance so complete that
I half fancied those solitary palm-trees waved their arms over some city
half-buried in the mirage of deserts, or the pages of some mediæval
romance.
But the dream departs, and so must we. Stirring music from the two
men-of-war lying at anchor unite with the first sounds from the long,
low barracks close by, and with the signal guns from the Morro, to say
that the sun is risen, and consequently we may go on shore.
First comes the pilot,--a stout Spaniard in supernaturally white
trousers and inexplicably thick overcoat. He sits under the awning of
his boat, and is rowed by twelve bronze, attenuated creoles, dressed in
wide-mouthed jackets, bare feet, much hair,--a few wearing turbans.
The steps are lowered; the pilot comes on deck, says good-morning to the
captain, in dislocated English, and goes forward to his duty.
We make the difficult entrance of the bay, to find ourselves assailed by
every species of small craft. All have awnings, are rowed by negroes,
black to hyperbole (B---- says coal would make a white mark on them), or
by coolies, or creoles; and all are importuning us, with frantic
gestures, imploring or menacing looks, bad Spanish or worse English, to
let them carry us ashore.
Here come boats laden with oranges, or shells, corals, and sponges
for sale; there a pocket edition of a steamboat brings the
health-officer,--without whose inspection no one can come here, even for
his health,--and presently a more elegantly ornamented boat, with
oarsmen in livery, brings the Captain-General’s aid-de-camp, dressed as
if freshly emerged from a Paris bandbox, and anxiously inquiring if
there is news from Spain. Captain ---- replies that there is a victory
over the Moors, and that he brings important dispatches from the Spanish
minister at Washington, which he must deliver in person. Therewith he
accompanies the officer to the Government House, the bundle of documents
under his arm.
Meanwhile the passengers are in great perplexity what hotel to go to,
and I am beginning to feel that sense of desolation and isolation so
natural to a stranger in a strange land, when B---- appears, bringing a
gentleman with a kindly English face, and introduces Mr. S----. At once
we are at home and in safe hands. His boat waits for us. In five minutes
we are in the Custom House to get a permit in exchange for our passports
(for both an enormous fee is demanded), and to await the luggage. This
is soon ranged on great tables before us; all the trunks are opened at
once; travellers, servants, Spaniards, negroes, anybody, as well as the
officials, can critically inspect the mysteries of ladies’ linen and
laces.
The hotel being distant but a block, we walk in the street. A Cuban lady
would as soon think of walking a rope, and would do it as well.
Do not figure to yourself Broadway: when I talk of a street in Havana, I
mean a fissure; an opening, in extremely straitened circumstances,
between two stone walls, which the Cubans, being diminutive people, are
able to get through. The sidewalks are in proportion. By dint of
cautious and careful attention to the exigencies of my centre of
gravity, I was able much of the time to get a foothold on the outer
edge of them, while my crinoline, repulsed by the wall on one side,
attracted in self-defence Mr. S----, who walked down in the street on
the other.
We have not even time to glance at the inconceivable novelties on every
hand, for “Queen’s Hotel”, the first English sign we have seen, is here
over the arched gateway. We walk through an open passage leading to the
court, and up the marble steps to an elegant saloon. This hotel, like
every other in the city, is overflowing; so we are obliged to take, for
a few days, “the room behind the curtain;” that is, one end of the
parlor, with only a calico wall between our prospective sleep and the
rows--not groups--of English, Irish, French, but mostly American guests.
I say rows, because the chairs here are always placed in two straight
lines in front of the long open windows, thus bringing their occupants
in a perpetual _vis-à-vis_.
Meantime, Creole and negro waiters are bringing in breakfast to the
adjoining room, which, is partitioned from the airy courtyard only by
high arches and pillars. Every thing looks temptingly fresh and
clean,--quite the reverse of all we have heard of the filth and bad
cooking of Cuba. Fried fruits in great variety, numerous mosaics from
the animal, vegetable, and I know not what kingdoms of nature, of which
I can only remember the name _picadille_, vary the bill of fare. _Café
au lait_ comes in after breakfast is over.
_Night._--All day guns have been firing, flags flying from balconies,
windows, and housetops, and endless preparations for a grand
illumination to-night in honor of the victory.
This afternoon we took the steam ferry across the bay, to get a view of
the harbor decked with its flags, and to see the sugar storehouses on
the other shore.
This is our first sight of coolies in native costume and usual Cuban
occupation. They look not only small, but weak, and extremely feminine
in face and form. They are mostly naked to the waist, where some sort of
a sash confines short loose trousers, and, in the boys, nothing at all.
The faces, more cheerful and adroit in expression than those of the
negroes, are of a brown reddish hue, as if the light came upon them from
a bright copper sun.
To-night we walked to the Plaza de Armas. It is filled with trees, four
of them palms, and with blooming flowers, mostly large, brilliant,
odorless, and unknown to me. During all this time, the band played
sweetly from the opera of Lucia de Lammermoor, and swarthy, moustached
and cigared men, and gaudily-dressed and ill-walking ladies, promenaded
round and round the walks, while their carriages waited outside the
gates.
How opaque are these faces! The outside is well enough, admirably
chiselled and toned, but it does not hint of anything behind. They too
often lack the only beautiful features that can be in a man’s
face,--intellect and sensibility. I wonder where Cuban people keep their
souls! Yet for all that, this is a scene of enchantment,--the intense
light in those stars, buried so deep in the intense blue; the dazzling
brightness of the vertical moon, that makes everybody walk upon his own
shadow; the pure breeze, coming fresh from over the sea; the many lights
from the palace balconies, revealing high, open windows, and through
them gay forms and foreign aspects.
_Friday, March 2._--This morning stayed in my room to rest, for I have
commenced with too large doses of the tropics. But who can rest in the
midst of thunderings like these,--guns, bands of music, shouts of
rejoicing? I hope the Spaniards will not gain any more victories over
the Moors until I get away from them.
This evening my first ride in a volante. Cuba is more Spanish than Spain
itself: for here we have the quaint, the characteristic Spain; the Spain
as it was when Don Quixote created it and was created by it; the Spain
isolated; the Spain which Paris and European civilization have little
touched or tainted; the Spain which, in want of religion, has the
absence of progression. But these grotesque volantes! They strike me as
something saved whole out of the general change and wreck of the past.
They consist of two long shafts, with a little low-seated and low-topped
kind of a _tête-à-tête_ at one end, which usually contains three bright,
gauzy clouds, enveloping three plump, dark-eyed ladies in bare head,
neck, and arms,--the youngest and prettiest always between and a little
in front of the other two. At the other end of the shafts is fastened a
minute horse; his tail is carefully braided, and tied with a string to
the left side of the saddle, upon which sits, the postillion, in boots
and livery. Sometimes a second horse is added, upon which the postillion
sits to guide the first; but this is superfluous, and merely, like the
rich mountings of silver on the horse and volante, to display the wealth
of the owner.
The gait of these horses is peculiar and indescribable. It is not a
trot, nor a pace, nor a canter, but a kind of combination of all, and
disdainful avoidance of each. It is a parody on quadrupedal
peripatetics. They are born to it. It is hereditary. It never entered
into the head--or rather feet--of a Cuban Rozinante, that there are
horses in the world not orthodox in this mode of locomotion. It gives
the rider, too, the most ridiculous motion imaginable,--as if the saddle
were a cushion, but a pin-cushion, with the pins stuck the wrong way.
Mr. S----, who accompanied us, said, on our return, that, when paying
the _callisero_, he asked him if he had an _escudo_ in change. “Oh,
yes!” said the darkey, and took the coin out of his ear.
We drove at once past the walls of the city, upon the _Paseo de Isabel
Segunda_ and the _Paseo Tacon_,--said to be the finest avenues in this
hemisphere,--with their five or six rows of magnificent palms, their
smooth, broad roads, statues, fountains, and gardens, and, far in the
distance, the luxurious plains, the graceful green slopes of hills and
mountains, the wonderfully tall, solitary palms and cocoa-trees,
standing like imposing sentinels to keep the voluptuous vegetation from
running riot, and over all the doting sunlight bathing its pet island in
a never-ending tide of fervor.
No wonder these people love gay hues, paint their houses in the
brightest colors, wear dresses and carry umbrellas dyed in rainbows; for
nature sets the example of brilliancy everywhere. The phosphoric waters
surrounding the island reply to every touch, every question, of oar,
with “colors dipped in heaven.” Even the smallest fishes have, almost
without exception, selected their scaly wardrobes from prismatic
excesses.
Last evening a game of whist, with a Catholic priest to complete the
party. He is a charming, accomplished Irishman; is more clever at
repartee, and more graceful in compliment, than any man I ever saw. What
infinitely delicate things he said! and all with as much feeling as if
he had learned both flattery and feeling in courts, instead of
catechisms. But he is so extravagantly fond of the game, and scolded
B---- so tempestuously, yet politely, for little mistakes, that I was
thankful to have the indulgent face of Mr. S---- for partner, instead of
that of the charming priest. He deplores the religious condition of
Cuba, and ridicules every thing else in it; shrugs his shoulders
sententiously at all these patriotic ebullitions, and declares that
volantes are just fit to carry chickens in. I even heard him, yesterday,
at breakfast, imitating the sing-song tone of the Cuban priests in their
masses, the comical expression of his face equalling the irresistibly
funny intonations of his voice.
_Saturday evening, March 3d._--A shopping excursion, with Mr. S---- for
guide and interpreter. In some shops they knew a little French, but less
English. I was obliged to use French for articles of attire which Mr.
S---- could not manage in Spanish, and, among us all--three or four
clerks usually looking on to help and laugh--I think a linguistical hash
was concocted as droll as any vegetable or animal arrangement that comes
on our hotel tables; and that is saying a great deal, when you consider
the oils, peppers, and garlics that are pressed into the service.
Here merchants do not name the shops after themselves, as Americans do,
but more modestly and tastefully. The shop is christened with a name of
its own, as in Europe. For instance, on one corner you have _Pobre
Diablo_ (Poor Devil), and on the corner opposite _Rico Diablo_ (Rich
Devil); then we have all the saints--and sinners--in the Calendar, so
that the shop can change hands without losing its identity. Shops
containing magnificent goods have often a very humble appearance,
because ladies do not walk the streets, or leave their volantes--those
darling volantes, which are their feet, their couches, their homes, the
body of which they are the soul, and which I have many times seen
standing, much at home, in the corners of their parlors! So all the
goods are kept in great boxes, and carried out to the volantes, where my
lady condescends to sit in state and in attire to inspect, and, without
knowing it, to pay twice the value of all she buys.
On coming home, we took another turn in the _Plaza de Armas_, where
festivities still continue. We are fortunate to be here at this time,
for it is a continual holiday, and will be so nearly all of next week.
Illuminations of all sorts, fine bands of music, awnings and flags of
red and yellow,--the national colors of Spain,--carriages and volantes
full of richly-dressed people, promenaders in Sunday-costume--all these
are to be met in every street of the city. I have been much amused at
promiscuous Moors in effigy, hanging out of the windows, in the centre
of huge doorways, or dangling from a cord over our heads in the middle
of the street. They are usually in full Moorish costume, and pierced
pathetically through the heart. Our driver flourished his whip
vigorously in passing, mostly ending by a patriotic cut at the devoted
images.
Close by this promenade we found a refreshing seat and ice-cream in the
famous Dominica. The cream was fruit-flavored and built up pyramidally
in an overgrown wineglass. On the plate under it, lay a long brown coil,
looking like a cigar, and tasting like a baked combination of brown
sugar, well-beaten eggs, and flour. This is designed as a spoon to eat
the towering cream with, and to eat with the towering cream. Many ladies
sit at the tables, but more remain before the doors and windows in their
volantes, receiving sweet liquids from the waiters, and dispensing
sweeter and more liquid glances to the admiring cavaliers gathered
around them.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
II.
_Celebrating a Victory--General Serrano--a Cuban Sacristan--His
View of Mary Magdalene--Sunday--The Theatre de Tacon--General
Serrano’s Wife--A “Norther”--The Fish Market--Brilliancy of the
Fish--A Venerable Cosmopolite--The Slaves--The Chain Gang--The
Cerro--A Count’s Country-house--No Twilight--Oranges--Polyglot
Dinner--Lottery Ticket._
SUNDAY, March 4th.
This morning high mass was celebrated, and the _Te Deum_ sung in the
Cathedral. As this is in honor of the victory, all the church
dignitaries and officers of state were in attendance, dressed in their
respective uniforms. First came Captain-General Serrano, whose title in
Spain is Marquis de San Antonio. He is heralded by a grand flourish of
martial music from the band, which had just played the national air of
Spain. He is a rather fine-looking man, with a massive bald head and
penetrating eye; the countenance expressing weight of character,
stirring experiences in life, a consciousness of power and
responsibility. He is said to be the father of two of the children of
the Queen of Spain. Her marble statue has just been erected in one of
the principal squares, and is nightly illuminated to receive the
admiration and homage of the loyal multitude. Following him, as next in
office, comes the Governor of the Island, whose resemblance to Mr. S----
has often caused them to be mistaken for each other; the latter
sometimes finding honors thrust upon him of which he is wholly
unambitious. Then come all the military, civil, and marine officers, in
gold lace, epaulets, ribbons, stars, and decorations of all devices, the
whole retinue filling the church, except the centre, where a few ladies
in black veils kneel upon bright-colored mats, which servants in livery
bring under their arms and spread for the ladies’ dainty dresses to
cover. A few of these mats are brought by negresses with shawls thrown
over their heads instead of veils. As soon as the mat is spread, the
mistress drops upon it, crossing herself too rapidly and adroitly for
Protestant eyes to follow, all the time saying her prayers and looking
devoutly at the image of the Virgin standing in the centre of the altar.
The negress kneels respectfully upon the bare floor by her side or
behind her. Mr. S---- pointed out to me several counts, marquises, and
other notabilities, refreshing to the republicanism of Yankee optics.
Meanwhile the chancel is filling with bishops, priest, and friars, in
magnificent costumes, and soon the grand _Te Deum_ swells over the
kneeling multitude. Governor, lords, ladies, and soldiers, bowed on the
same floor with the negro slave. It floats on over the floating incense;
then it ascends and seems to pause like a halo around the painted heads
of saints and apostles listening in the ceiling. Just in front of us
knelt Count----, a friend of Mr. S----, leaning upon a diamond-headed
cane, and looking incessantly at his watch, to see how soon the
ceremonies and unaccustomed posture would come to an end.
After all was over, the sacristan, dressed in a blue woollen gown and
wide embroidered white cambric collar, escorted us over the edifice. Its
external, so quaint and unique, so like a relic of the middle ages, with
towers and walls marred and rent, and crumbling with the rapid effects
of the moist climate rather than of time, did not indicate so much
beauty and art as existed within. It is chiefly in the Moorish style,
the numerous paintings mostly from Rome, and nearly all copies from the
best masters. The sacristan made himself jolly; offered to robe me in
the bishop’s vestments and ornament me with the crosiers, and staffs,
and mitres, and what-nots, in the robing-room. But I, being less
familiar with these sacred emblems than he, felt less contempt, and
declined the honor. One of the paintings, a dark old dilapidated affair
hanging in an ante-room, represents Christ talking earnestly to Mary
Magdalene. She turns her coquettish head from him in a most coquettish
way, and with a look of more affected than real shame and sorrow. The
old fellow pointed it out to us, and, with a significant twinkle, said
to Mr. S----, in Spanish,--
“That was Jesus Christ’s _woman_.”
To Mr. S----’s exclamation of astonishment, he replied,--
“Of course he was a man, like the rest of us.”
We paused before the modest tomb of Columbus, whose remains were
interred in the chancel of the Cathedral many years ago, with respectful
ceremonies and magnificence. His bas-relief in marble is placed in much
the same position as the bust of Shakspeare in the Avon church. From the
Cathedral we passed to the miniature garden separating it from the
seminary. This contains flowers, trees, shrubs, a fountain in the
centre. The sacristan picked me a bouquet of pretty purple and pink
blossoms without odor, bowing to my “_gracias_” most graciously, and
upon receiving a little fee, instead of “begging for two reals more,” as
D---- says he did upon his departure, the old man seemed surprised that
he received anything at all.
Staid American eyes are struck by the spiritual stolidity of these
people. Favorites of nature, crowned forever by her flowers, inspired by
her fresh and friendly breezes, basking always in her fondest sunlight,
they receive all these gifts in forgetfulness of the giver. It being
Sunday, all kinds of festivities riot in increased abandonment. The
shops, unlike those of most towns in Europe, are open; tailors and
shoemakers are at their work in little dark dens resembling those to
which the mechanics of Naples retreat on rainy days; and, though
forbidden by law, Sunday trade flourishes thriftily, as if Sundays and
religions were an impertinent restriction upon a Cuban’s right to life,
liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
_Monday, 5th._--This morning we walked on the _Cortina_ to inhale the
cool sea breezes which there defy the scorching tyranny of even this
sun. How refreshing, after panting through those hot, fuming, dusty,
noisy streets, to sit under that dense shade, upon the marble seats,
with the tired city hidden behind you, and the blue tranquil bay
sleeping in its brightness before! The Morro lies peacefully on the
other side, brown, and dim, and silent as a weary lion. From the
lighthouse of the castle are floating flags of various colors, to me
inexplicable. But Mr. S---- explains. The different shapes and colors
indicate the kind and nationality of any vessel that is descried making
for the port; so that long before even the glasses of watchers in the
city can discern anything, it is known by these flags that preparations
must be made to receive the newcomer; that friends are approaching, or
friends must be left behind; that partings and meetings are to resume
their tyranny in the world.
_Evening._--The _Theatre de Tacon_, or Opera House, disappointed us. It
is large, airy, and convenient, but plain and bare to a degree. It being
“Commandment Night,”--that is, the Captain-General having signified his
intention of being present, and the rejoicings not yet over--the usual
opera was omitted. First, a national anthem, sung by one hundred
performers. Then followed a Spanish comedy, capitally acted, I could be
sure, though as good as ignorant of the language. Then came some divine
airs from the opera of the Bohemian Girl, sung by Gassier. Her voice is
full, sustained, in some passages, touching. But the _embonpoint_! Alas,
why must women of the poetical South always be so unpoetically fat! Or
why are we not blind to the incongruity of passion and adipose tissue.
These Spaniards are critical and enthusiastic judges of music; never
tolerate a bad thing; applaud and hiss vociferously.
But to me the attraction of the evening was the lovely marquise, wife of
the Captain-General (sometimes I can understand how a port may be
absolutely panic-struck with a woman’s beauty). A Creole by birth, with
a fortune of several millions, she married Serrano, who became
embassador to France, where he spent the greater part of her wealth in
maintaining the honor of Spain, by a magnificence which is said to have
eclipsed that of the Emperor. So he is sent here to recruit; that is, to
rob the Cubans of a million or two, as his predecessors have done. The
Governor’s box was only two boxes from ours, so that I could distinctly
watch every shade of her expression. La señora looked sad, absent; she
assumes a pensive attitude irresistibly charming in one so lovely and so
necessarily the observed of all observers. Her personal charms are
enough to excite all the enthusiasm the Cubans feel for her, but her
Creole birth renders it unbounded. She wore her dark hair thrown back
from a completely classical head and face; a subdued fire indicating
rare power of passion and suffering burns in her eyes; her nose, mouth,
and chin, are full of sensitive delicacy; in every curve of the
exquisite bust and slender figure, grace achieves a very pathos of
perfection. She was draped in some gauzy fabric floating about her like
a dream; large dark roses on hair, bosom, and dress, the only ornament.
People say she sighs for the life in Paris, and that she was for a long
time the rival of the Empress. Who knows? who can unravel the web of
suffering which stifles out the life and hope from any woman’s heart?
The most comical scenes scarcely wakened a smile on her face; but her
husband, sitting at her right, smiled and patted his white kids with
very accurate and well-timed condescension. The box in which they sat is
gaily hung, the national coat of arms placed over the centre. They went
out between every act to receive guests in an adjoining saloon. We found
more beauty among the women than writers on Cuba had promised us.
Regular, I may say, exquisite, features are very common; and these,
illuminated by dark, deep eyes, with effective and well-manœuvered
glances, make as lovely women as is possible, where intellect and soul
seem to exile themselves behind so much of what elsewhere than on a lady
would be called fat. All are in full, the fullest possible, dress; all
are displaying great eloquence of skill in manipulating their lace and
jewelled fans; all are, or aspire to be, the magnets for the dark,
handsome eyes and well-levelled opera-glasses in the pit below. It was
curious, among all that tumultuous sea of masculine heads in the
parquette, to see not one with fair hair--all black with youth, gray
with manhood, white or bald with age.
_Tuesday, 6th._--The thermometer has fallen from 90 to 75 degrees. This
is the result of a “norther,” which drives the cold waters of the
Atlantic furiously into our bay; changes the usual moist perspiring
atmosphere into a husky dryness; turns the roads, almost the
paving-stones, into dust; shrivels and browns the foliage in the
country; and with its cold puts the low-necked dresses, pantings, and
fans of our hotel-ladies in their trunks. So we ventured on a walk, even
at high noon, to our favorite _Cortina_, keeping on the shady side, and
stopping at the fish market. It is palpably true that God set his dyed
bow in the heavens; but I did not before know that he also set it in the
floods to reassure us that we should have no more floods,--else where
did these fishes learn this trick of exaggerated brightness? Of all the
myriads ranged on the endlessly long metallic tables, I do not remember
one in quaker costume. Everywhere a fantastic variety of colors and
gradations and combinations of shades. Joseph’s coat would have looked
plain beside them. May not the excessive phosphorescence, latent, or
developed in the native waters of these fishes, explain in some way
their pre-eminence of color?
_Wednesday, March 7th._--At last we have a room possessing the
fundamental doctrines of a room, viz., four walls of its own. It was
formerly the library of the bishop, who built the palace and lived in it
several years, and is now, by the way, enormously rich, and “they say”
hints not egregiously pious. Our room has an ambitious window, from
which we always see the sky, and nothing else. The door, protected by
fanciful iron gratings, opens upon the dining-room. The floor, of the
usual black and white marble, resembles a chess-board with the squares
placed diagonally. As queen of this chess-board, I am in a fair way to
be checkmated, as well as its king, if the jolly priest continues his
jolly suppers. The rest of the room would suit me well enough, if it
were not so discouragingly convenient. With the exception of a kind of
wooden-tiled ceiling, and one of the beds furnished with stretched
canvass instead of a mattress, you might suppose yourself commonplacely
domiciled in a respectable hotel in Yankeedom.
_Thursday, 8th._--This morning Mr. S. brought his venerable friend Mr.
R----. He is a Frenchman, though born in Baltimore and educated in
England; has lived indefinitely on the Continent; is waiting to die in
Cuba. He is delightful, thoroughly a cosmopolite, speaks many languages,
knows everything and everybody. Long intimacy with this government, its
officers, and many of the nobility, has made him _au fait_ in the policy
and intrigues as well as customs and characteristics of the island. Lady
Wortly is indebted to him for her anecdotes of Cuba. I have been able to
correct many false impressions received from various writers; for
instance:--
The line of separation between Creoles and Spaniards is not distinctly
drawn. The Creoles sympathize in these victorious rejoicings; would be
perfectly satisfied with an allegiance to Spain, if they could have a
voice in their own government. Creole ladies are lighter in color,
better educated, less rigid in forms of etiquette and propriety than the
Spanish. But everywhere the negro blood is so intermixed, that it is
impossible to make a distinct separation between any of the races; a
fact of difficult management in the event of self-government, or any
step towards it. He says there are not fifty families in the island
untainted by African blood. It seems very natural that a dark race
should have less repugnance to a black race than white people have.
We all know the greater leniency of the laws here, with regard to
slaves, than in the United States. I find, in addition, that there is,
in Cuba, much more indulgence and affection between master and slave,
unless it be on the remote plantations. In our drives, particularly
through the suburbs, I continually see negroes and their Creole
mistresses, dressed equally well, lounging on the balconies, not as
equals, but in a way that indicates affectionate intimacy, and a gayety
too abundant to suggest the true _dolce far niente_. I am told that,
almost without exception, masters here would be willing to free their
slaves in case of remuneration.
Among the many foolish arrangements of this government, the chain-gang
seems to be a wise one. It is a penitentiary on the highway. My author
on Cuba, says of this chain-gang, “It is Sunday; but no rest for them.”
The truth is, they always rest on Sunday, unless unusual circumstances
occur; as, for instance, a road that must be finished for some great
occasion.
_Thursday evening, March 9th._--This evening drove to the _Cerro_, three
miles distant, to visit the country house of Count Fernandino, an
intimate friend of Mr. R----, who accompanied us. Contrary to Mr. R----’s
expectations, the family, consisting of the old widowed count, and
his son and daughter-in-law, had not yet left their winter residence in
the city. An old family servant, however, conducted us everywhere, with
equal pride and pleasure. The house is a quaint, irregular structure.
You stumble everywhere upon recesses, balconies, unexpected rooms, and
general surprises. In the drawing-room are two genuine Claude Lorraines,
and two Vernets. I was sorry to be hurried away from them to the
billiard-room; the octagon library, the high, large, open piazza, roofed
with vines and paved with marble, where two hundred dancers find
fantastic toe-room; the curious chambers, busts, statues, curiosities
everywhere.
But the grounds we only saw from the tower, and without them we have
seen nothing. They are extensive and beautiful; here a rustic bridge
crosses the mysteriously winding brook which branches into a fanciful
bathing-house, hung with pictures of naiads and water-gods; there stands
a little airy temple overhung by doting cypresses, and sacred to its
only inhabitant,--an exquisite marble Venus. Wherever chance leads your
steps, it will be sure to reveal some new beauty of tree, or flower, or
shrub, or arbor, or rustic seat; some avenue looking far out upon the
wonderful campagna. As the short and sudden twilight comes, a lovely
waterfall catches the light coming from the distant Morro, with level,
and distinct, and separate rays over the city spires and roofs, over its
pale, irregularly planted lights and absorbing shadows. Many of the
trees and shrubs are from Europe and Asia. The gardener gave me a spray
from an Australian tree, imported when a small slip, for which the count
paid seven hundred dollars. He also gave me two handfuls of bouquets,
some of them from his own private nursery, by which he makes a hundred
dollars per month, in addition to his wages. Mr. R---- tells me that, in
the last hurricane, most of the trees in these grounds were prostrated;
that he saw the count and countess, when they first discovered the
desolation, crying like children. The great difficulty in gardening here
is to repress vegetation, it being nearly impossible to curb its rank
luxuriance. If left to itself, any garden will in two or three years
become a dense impenetrable tangle of trees, vines, flowers, and weeds.
But it is time to hurry away from all this loveliness. A few minutes ago
we were watching the sunset emparadising both heaven and earth; now,
before we have time for a second sigh at its departure, night has
dropped upon us like a silent and intangible avalanche, with no
interluding, apologistic twilight to warn or to reconcile us.
_March 10th._--Rose this morning, as usual, at six. So soon as bathed
and dressed, commenced the day in the customary national style; namely,
by a vigorous attack upon a pyramid of huge oranges, which B---- has
just brought in, paying twelve cents for ten. He gives me two-thirds of
each, for the remaining third and the privilege of peeling them. I am
commanded by high authority to devour twelve every morning; until I
achieve that I cannot be said to like oranges, or even to eat them.
After the nine o’clock breakfast, appeared the white head of Mr. R----,
and, immediately after, a portable set of chess-men, with which he
challenged me to a game. He has not played much for twenty-eight years.
I did not play much before that time; so, not unequally yoked together,
we fought long and desperately; and who do you think won? My modesty
declines to answer.
Dinner at four, with the usual English courses and bill of fare, except
an interspersion of here and there a Spanish or French dish; for
instance,--garlic, onions, and oil, flavored with a piece of stewed
beef; or, further down the table, the same trio thinly populated with
tripe and potatoes; or, on two cross corners of each table, a square
pile of rice, polished with oil and rouged with juice of tomatoes. Then
many new fruits, as the manna, sapote, and others which I will describe
when I know them better. By five o’clock we have usually manifested
fully our approval of all dinners in general, and of polyglott dinners
in particular. The _café noir_ is then dispatched to make the peace, and
we are ready for the cigar, the drive, or the siesta. I do not quite yet
smoke the cigars myself as I see many Havanese ladies doing; but I have
bought a lottery ticket!--the ninth--and the drawing comes on the 22d
inst. Never say you have been to Havana, unless you have bought a
lottery ticket. They are a native production.
[Illustration]
III.
_Drive to the Sea-shore--Evening Boat-ride--Splendor of the
Waters--Campo del Marte--Low Mass--The “Madonna”--Beautiful
Children--Church of San Filipo--Sacred Names--The Mount of
Jesus--Corruption of the Clergy--Cuba Misrepresented in
Books--Growing “used to it”--A Creole--Cascarilla--Warm
Weather--The Cortina._
SATURDAY, March 11th.
This morning we drove, or more properly rode, for no one drives in a
volante, to the sea-shore. Although the sun was burning down upon us
with his customary ardor, a “norther” cooled his ferver so effectually
as to make a thick shawl necessary. Thicker boots were indispensable to
save the feet from the sharp points of coral rocks over which we must
walk, upon leaving the volante. With the assistance of our “norther,” a
high tide dashed the waves in furious beauty over the low, unresisting
shore, and with a muffled thunder straight out of the heart of infinity.
I wonder if any familiarity can ever breed a feeling of even
acquaintanceship with this “roar of torn ocean.” Was it not a pretty
scene for us as we stood there,--the graceful, yet frowning Morro, with
its white wave-washed feet, growing from the promontory across the bay,
its fluttering flags foretelling ships like a presentiment, its towers
warming and brightening in the parting smiles of the sun, with a very
human pathos of joy! Far out on the restless sea, more restless ships
toss and tack and veer their sails; clouds, dream thin, and
sunset-souled. How blue they make the sea! How white the dark waves are
painting them!
Behind us in the west rises a rough, high bluff, flanked by endless
lines of barracks; on the outer wall, a solitary sentinel paces and
watches us; under its shadow stands our waiting volante and the sunburnt
_callisero_. Nothing more is visible except the sky-questioning palms
behind the bluff--far in the south the strange city of this strange
clime. Nothing anywhere is familiar save the quiet, tender sky above;
and that is so blue, so intense, so twice a sky, so profound in its
passion of beauty, that you wonder how sorrow and death can live beneath
it!
I do not marvel that the people of sun-lands do not greatly aspire, or
labor, or achieve. What need of this threefold weariness, this getting
of spiritual bread by spiritual brain-sweat, when happiness falls down
upon their heads all day long out of the sky; when feeling, which is a
thousand times better than thought, buds and blossoms out of every
sunbeam, and night is but a sudden sigh, a languishing wink of this
regal lover between caresses.
_Evening._--And the most interesting we have spent in Havana.
To describe a boat-ride upon the phosphorescent waters of this bay, one
should, alas! have some powers of description. I can only outline it in
a homely way and leave the rest to your imagination.
All our previous nights have been without twilight. The only apparent
change was in the color, not the quality, of light; the warm gold,
blanching into a colder, purer blaze, fitting the mind and eye for its
enjoyment: it is the quantity not the intensity of daylight. But
to-night the sun dies under the western sea, and an azure which is
neither light nor darkness, fills the void. The stars discover through
it their happy images below, and our throbbing oars--oars no longer, but
living light--rival the pulsations of the stars.
All this time our “trackless way” is distinctly blazing far behind,
while far below our cutting keel leaves its cicatrice; an antipodean
milky-way, and our prow, like a Yankee boreas, carries its snowcloud in
its teeth. There flies a fish with planetary speed, invisible in air,
but in its native element a mistress “at home.” Even the oscillation of
our little boat causes flashes of softest light in the surrounding air,
by which our faces are brightened to reveal the beautiful peace and
pleasure each feels.
We lean and look in the water at our side, and see the myriad
scintillations that come and go with ever-changing variety, and then
think, that to each spark is attached an organized body, with
circulating medium and force, with sensations more or less acute; and
that in this bay of some three square miles, is a galaxy of worlds;
every globule a world of itself, inhabited by perfect and sentient
beings, each with its hopes, fears, and perhaps its loves and hates, and
therefore sorrows; and then we remember that the whole tropical waters
which girdle the globe are equally crowded with life.
_Saturday, 11th._--The rejoicings profess to have reached a patriotic
climax,--a grand display of all the troops on the island, which is twice
the number of the whole military force of the United States. With the
only vacant seat in our English carriage filled at last by our venerable
friend Mr. N----, we drove out to the Campo del Marte. We found it
difficult and delightful, steering our way through the archipelago of
carriages and volantes filled with ladies in full ball costume, many of
the faces and figures striking, a few very handsome; so that with
well-rewarded patience and time, we obtained a good position.
The poverty of republican eyes is imbibantly observant of all
appurtenances of royalty. First dashes past the knighted
Governor-General, doffing cap and plume, and bowing with great dignity
to the bowing multitude. Following are body-guard and staff, counts,
marquises, and other nobility in uniform, crosses and decorations of
honor.
The gentlemen informed me that the troops marched well. I am sure the
regiments of negroes thought so, and enjoyed the supposition. We
returned home to whist and delightful conversation on all things new and
old, followed by the most cordial imaginable of good-nights and
hand-shakings.
_Sunday._--Early this morning to a Jesuit mass--low mass, and so very
low that it could not be heard at all. Two priests only officiated, both
meek-faced, keeping “custody of eyes;” one of them with the most
remarkable intellectual and characteristic head I ever saw, the other
with the devoutest, purest face. All the devotees, mostly women and
girls, and liveried servants, knelt upon mats placed over the marble
floor. All the ladies were gracefully arrayed in black lace Spanish
veils, which, like moonlight on the Coliseum, “leaves that beautiful
which still was so, and makes that which was not.” They were repeating
their prayers; those who could read, from books, those who could not,
from memory; and all the time the young and pretty ones were rolling
their dark fascinating eyes around upon my escort of gentlemen, except
when the moment came for crossing themselves and looking devoutly
towards an image of the Virgin execrably done in wax.
I find the only way to extract good instead of disgust from scenes like
this, is to ignore the wax and the tawdry ornaments, and to remember
only the divinely sweet woman who loved Christ as I fear none of us have
loved him; who suffered for him as none of us shall be honored by
suffering for him; the only woman who united to the virgin’s charm the
mother’s hallowing rapture; the woman whom God loved more than all
earthly women, making her the mother of his son. You must think of the
sanctity she has given to all motherhood. You must remember the
elevation and delicacy she has given to the love of many pure and wise
priests, who through the dark centuries loved no woman but her; who
centred in her the love that might not be human nor for the human. Think
of all this, and then see if you can wonder that the devout imaginations
of the learned as well as of the ignorant Romanist have found a female
element in the Trinity, and in worshipping the Father and Son have also
most tenderly adored her who was a link between them; her through whom
God is no longer an avenging God, and through whom Christ longs and
makes ready for us.
The church, to my great surprise, though belonging to the Jesuits,
displays no wealth and no taste; forlornly ugly pictures, clumsy tawdry
flowers, and atrocious statues everywhere. Many things, however, were
interesting enough to repay us for the trouble of getting up so early
and walking so far.
Nothing could surpass the extremely graceful attitude of the ladies, or
the universal beauty of the children, especially of the boys. How
exquisitely regular and clear cut are their features! how transparent
their large, soft, black eyes! how intelligent their whole expression! I
am told that all Spanish boys and girls are remarkably precocious. At
thirteen they promise to be geniuses, sing, paint, even write poetry
that would not only startle a Northern mother, but frighten her with a
certainty of the imminent dissolution of her cherub. After that age the
tropical child remains savingly in _statu quo_, if he does not
perceptibly degenerate.
Having still twenty minutes before breakfast, we drove quickly to the
fashionable church of San Filipo. Found it having more pretension than
the Jesuit (“Belen”) church, but not more taste. Abundance of tinsel,
plenty of yellowed grotesque, semi-arabesque carvings on tinselled
columns and what-not, but no beauty, unless, perchance, under the happy
veil of some worshipping angel.
_Sunday evening._--Is it a question of piety, or of taste, that so many
places have holy names? “Jesus dil monto” “Jesus Maria,” “Las dace
Apostles;” the latter being a battery of guns under the Morro, intended
to convert enemies’ ships into enemies’ wrecks--a highly apostolic mode
of conversion.
To end our Sabbath we ascended the Mount of Jesus and walked in a garden
of cocoa-trees supposed to occupy relatively the position of Gethsemane.