In the Courts of Memory, 1858-1875 Part 45

We went to the theater with Marquise San Carlos. "All the world is here,"

said she. Certainly it looked as if all Havana filled the Tacon, which is a very large theater. Every box was full, and the parquet, as Lola told me, contained the _haute volee_ of the town; the open balconies were sacred to the middle-cla.s.s, while in the upper gallery were the n.o.bodies, with their children, poor things! decked out with flowers and trying to keep awake through the very tiresome and _demode_ performance of "Macbeth." Tamberlik sang. What a glorious voice he has! And when he took the high C (which, if I dare make the joke, did not at all resemble the one Laura and I encountered coming out of New York Harbor) it was all I could do to sit quiet. I wanted to wave something. The prima-donna was _a.s.soluta_, and must have been pickled in some academy in Italy years ago, for she was not preserved. She acted as stupidly as she sang.

Each box has six seats and are all open, with the eternal lattice-door at the back, and separated from its neighbor by a small part.i.tion. It was very cozy, I thought; one could talk right and left, and when the gentlemen circulated about in the _entr'actes_ smoking the inevitable cigarette, which never leaves a Cuban's lips except to light a fresh one, all the lattice-doors are eagerly opened to them. Lola presented all the _haute volee_ to us, the unpresented just stared. I never realized how much staring a man can do till I saw the Cuban. I mentioned this to Lola, to which she responded, "It is but natural, you are a stranger."

"Dear friend," said I, "I have been a stranger in other lands, but I have never seen the like of this. If I was an orang outang there might be some reason, but to a simple mortal, or two simple mortals, like my sister and myself, their stares seem either too flattering or the reverse."

"Why, my dear," she replied, "they mean it as the greatest compliment, you may believe me." And she appealed to her husband, who confirmed what she said. All the gentlemen carry fans and use them with vigor; the ladies are so covered with powder (_cascarilla_) that you can't tell a pretty one from an ugly one. If one of them happens to sneeze, there is an avalanche of powder.

Lola showed us her establishment and explained the architecture of a Cuban house. If chance has put a chimney somewhere, they place the kitchen near it. Light and size are of no account, neither is cooking of any importance.

CUBA, _February, 1873._

We make such crowds of acquaintances it would be useless to tell you the names. The Marquise San Carlos sent her carriage for us the evening of her _soiree_. All the company was a.s.sembled when we arrived: the Marquis, the Dean of Havana, and two abbes were playing _tresillo_, a Spanish game of cards.

A group of men stood in the corner and seemed to be talking politics, as far as I could judge from then gesticulations. A few ladies in sweeping trains, and very _decolletees_, sat looking on listlessly. The daughter of the house was nearing the piano. The Dean said to me, with a sly smile, "Now is the _coup de grace!_"--his little joke. She sang, "Robert, toi que j'aime. Grace! Grace!" etc. Also she sang the waltz of "Pardon de Ploermel," a familiar _cheval de bataille_ of my own, which I was glad to see cantering on the war-path again. In the mean time conversation was at low ebb for poor Laura. She told me some fragments which certainly were peculiar. For instance, she understood the gentle man who had last been talking to her to say that he had been married five times, had twenty- eight children, and had married his eldest son's daughter as his fifth wife. I afterward ascertained that what he had intended to convey was that he was twenty-eight when he married and had fifteen children. That was bad enough, I thought.

I sang two or three times. The gaiety was brought to rather an abrupt close, as the Marquis received a telegram of his brother's death. The Abbe went on playing his game, not at all disturbed (such is the force of habit); but we folded our tents and departed.

The hours are sung out in the streets at night, with a little flourish at the end of each verse. I fancy the watchman trusts a good deal to inspiration about this, as my clock--an excellent one--did not at all chime in with his hours. Perhaps he composes his little verse, in which case a margin ought to be allowed him....

The bells in the churches are old and cracked and decrepit.

All the fleet, and any other boat that wants to join in fire off salute, to wake you up in the morning.

I bought to-day the eighth part of a lottery-ticket.

The Captain of the Port thinks his English is better than his French, but sometimes it is very funny. He says: "Don't take care," instead of "Never mind"--"The _volante_ is to the door"--"Look to me, I am all proudness"-- "You are all my anxiousness."

The houses are generally not more than one story high, built around an open court, on which all rooms open. In the middle of this is a fountain; no home is complete without a fountain, and no fountain is complete without its surroundings of palms, plants, and flowers. In one of the rooms you can see where the _volante_ reposes for the night. You only see these glories at night. When the heavy bolts are drawn back you and everybody can look in from the street on the family gathering, basking in rocking-chairs around the fountain, and in oriental, somnolent conversation.

CUBA, _February._

The annual _soiree_ of the Governor and his wife took place last night.

The Captain of the Port came to fetch us. The palace is, like all other official buildings, magnificent on the outside, but simple and severe within. There was a fine staircase, and all the rooms were brilliantly lighted, but very scantily furnished, according to our ideas.

We must have gone through at least six rooms before we reached the host and hostess. Every room was exactly alike: in each was a red strip of carpet, half a dozen rocking-chairs placed opposite one another, a cane- bottomed sofa, a table with nothing on it, and walls ditto. There are never any curtains, and nothing is upholstered. This is the typical Cuban salon.

There was an upright piano and a pianist at it when we entered, but the resonance was so overpowering that I could not hear what he was playing.

Laura and I (after having been presented to a great many people) were invited to sit in the rocking-chairs. The gentlemen either stood out in the corridor or else behind the chair of a lady and fanned her. _Dulces_ and ices were pa.s.sed round, and every one partook of them, delighted to have the opportunity to do something else than talk.

When the pianist had finished his Chopin a lady sang, accompanied by her son, who had brought a whole pile of music. She courageously attacked the _Cavatina_ of "Ernani." The son filled up the places in her vocalization which were weak by playing a das.h.i.+ng chord. She was a stout lady and very warm from her exertions, and the more she exerted herself the more frequently the vacancies occurred; and the son, perspiring at every pore, had difficulty to fill them up with the chords, which became louder and more das.h.i.+ng.

Countess Ceballos, with much hemming and hawing, begged me to sing. I felt all eyes fixed on me; but my eyes were riveted to the little, low piano- stool on which I should have to sit. It seemed miles below the piano-keys.

"How could I play on it?" Evidently none but long-bodied performers had been before me, for when I asked for a cus.h.i.+on, in order to raise myself a little, nothing could be found but a very bulgy bed-pillow, which was brought, I think, from the mother country. There was a sort of Andalusian swagger about it.

The dream "that I dwelt in marble halls" was no longer a dream. Here I was singing in one. I sang "_Ma Mere etait Bohemienne_," and another song which had an easy accompaniment. It took me a little moment to temper my voice to these shorn rooms.

The charge of musketry which followed was deafening, though only gentlemen clapped their hands; ladies don't rise to such exertion in Cuba. I sang "Beware!" as a parting salute. The Captain of the Port came up, flushed with pride, and said, in his best English, "I am all proudness!"

_Panelas_ (large pieces of frosted sugar, to be melted in water) and other sweets were pa.s.sed about at intervals.

Shaking hands is a great inst.i.tution here. No one wears gloves except at the opera, so that one's hands are in a perpetual state of fermentation, especially after one of these functions, when making acquaintances, expressing thanks, and everything else are done through the medium of the hands. One can literally say that one wrings one's hands.

We, as the distinguished guests, were led into the supper-room very ceremoniously, and put among the higher strata of society. The buffet was overflowing with Cuban delicacies and _dulces_. I reveled in the fruit and left the viands severely alone.

After supper we went into the ball-room, and saw for the first time the Cuban waltz, otherwise called _Habanera_, a curious dance something between a shuffle and a languid glide. The dancers hardly move from the same spot, or at most keep in a very small circle, probably on account of the heat and exertion; and then the dispersing of so much powder, with which every lady covers herself and gets rid of when she moves, has to be considered.

The music has a peculiar measure; I have never heard anything like it before. The instruments seemed mostly to be violins, flutes, clarinets, and a small drum. The ba.s.s is very rhythmical and deep, whereas the thin tones of the other instruments are on the very highest notes, which leaves a gap between the upper and lower tones, making such a peculiar effect that the music pursues and haunts you even in your dreams.

We bade our host and hostess good night and, followed by the Captain of the Port, who now was not only "all proudness," but full of "responsibilitiveness," left the palace. In pa.s.sing the music-room I took a farewell look at the bulgy bed-pillow, which was still reposing on the music-stool.

CUBA, _February._

DEAR MAMA,--You have no idea of the heat here. I never felt anything so scorching as it was to-day. Let me tell you what happened.

General Lliano came in the morning to ask what Havana could show me. I answered that above all things I wanted to see Morro Castle. He replied that Morro Castle was mine, and that I had only to fix the time and he would take us there.

I did fix it, and fixed it at two o'clock, as a fit hour to visit the _Cabana_. I noticed the look of blank despair on our friend's face, but, not knowing that all Cuba slept between the hours of two and five, I did not realize the piteousness of it. General Lliano begged the Captain of the Port, Senor Catala, to accompany us, and both of these gentlemen came in full uniform, as well as their aides-de-camp.

The Captain's trim little boat was at the wharf near our hotel, and we were rowed over by the governmental crew to the opposite sh.o.r.e, and were met by the Governor of Morro Castle at the landing in the most sweltering heat. I had not forgotten to take the precaution, which anywhere else would have been appropriate, to carry extra wraps, as I told Laura that they were necessary for every water excursion. You may imagine the _de- trop_-ness of these articles when the thermometer was up at one hundred and twenty in the shade.

We were taken about conscientiously and shown all that there was to be seen: all the dungeon-cells and subterranean pa.s.sages, and up the hill to see the view, which was very extended and very beautiful. From there we went to the Governor's house, where we were greeted by his wife and daughter, the wife stiff in black moire (I mean the moire was stiff, not she). He placed himself, his wife and daughter, and his mansion at my disposal. I would not have minded taking the old gentleman; but I absolutely refused the lady and the moire dress.

_Dulces_ were served and some unappetizing-looking ices, which tasted better than they looked. Cakes also were offered us, of which I picked out those which had the least mauve and yellow coatings. When we were presented with some stiff little bouquets we thought it was a signal for departure, and bade adieu to the black moire and the fast-melting ices.

From the _Cabana_ we walked along the macadamized road to the Morro Castle, a long distance it seemed to me in the heat; but we left the hard and glaring road and walked over the gra.s.s, following the line of the subterranean pa.s.sage, which made a sort of mound, and finally reached Morro Castle. Here there were more officials, more presentations and more ceremonies, and more _dulces_ and more bouquets.

The view from the ramparts, on which stood the lighthouse, was sublime: the blue sea underneath us, Havana on the left, and the purple mountains in the far distance.

One of the officials asked us whether we wanted to go to the top of the lighthouse. I declined, much to the relief of the a.s.sembled company. They say that fish have been thrown up by the spray over the lighthouse; but this seems almost as incredible as the majority of fishy stories. The castle is very high, the ramparts are higher, and the lighthouse crowns everything. The water dashes up through narrow crevices in the rocks, which gives it great force, and possibly might account for the fish story, but I doubt it.

By this time (six o'clock) we were utterly exhausted. Even at this hour the heat was intolerable. We had hoped for a little breeze on the water; but, alas! there was none. Poor Senor Herreras held his foot incased in tight patent-leather boots in his lap, moaning, "Comme je souffre!"

How they all must have blessed me for this idea of mine! I felt ashamed to look them in the face.

CUBA, _1873._

I could not tell you all the things we were taken to see. We visited the German and Spanish men-of-war As we were in the company of the Governor- General, the Commander, and the Captain-General, we were not spared the proper salutes. The tour of the war-s.h.i.+ps had to be made, and in place of the eternal _dulces_ international refreshments were offered us. We departed in the Captain of the Port's steam-launch, and drove to the Carreo, where the pretty villas are.

The Governor-General drove us out to his _quinta_ in great style: English horses and carriage and an American coachman. The roads were pretty bad, and we were considerably jostled going through the _Paseo._ The coachman careered from side to side to avoid ruts and tracks, and the dust was overpowering. No conversation was possible, as our throats were filled with dust and our lives hanging on a thread. I waved my hand in the direction of anything I thought pretty, and silence followed.

At the _quinta_ all was ready and waiting for us. Fountains were playing, servants in red and yellow gorgeous liveries, with white stockings, were flitting about; various Cuban delicacies were offered to us, and we admired everything that was to be admired. The return drive was delightful, through the long avenues of stately palms and graceful date- trees.

The carnival is a great event and very amusing. I am not spoiled in the way of carnivals, only having seen that of Paris (the _Boeuf gras_) and the Battle of Flowers at Nice. The populace turn out in great force, every one is gay and happy, and the Cubans high and low join in the sport.

We were invited to drive in a four-in-hand. In this way we had a kind of bird's-eye view of the whole. No lady thinks herself too fine to join in the carnival. The procession, which defiles up and down the _Paseo_ during the fray, begins at four in the hot, broiling afternoon, and ladies, decked out as Diana, Minerva, or other celebrities, powdered _a l'outrance_, smiling and proud of their success, recline in their _volantes_. Their own servants, with false noses or otherwise disguised, have their fun, too. I never saw such an orderly crowd; no pus.h.i.+ng, no quarreling, no drunkenness, and yet every one was enjoying himself. There were two rows of carriages, one going up, one going down, with a place in the middle for the four-in-hands and the _chars_, some of which were very ingenious. There was a steams.h.i.+p with sailors, who kept firing off the whistle every time they saw a skittish horse. On another car were men dressed as skeletons with death's-heads instead of masks, and Shylock- looking Jews riding with their backs to the horses' heads, holding on to their tails.