Part 2
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.
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.