Part 75

The annual soirée 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 passed 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 dashing 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 dashing.

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 cushion, 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 Mère était Bohémienne," 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 passed about at intervals.

Shaking hands is a great institution 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 bass 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 passing 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 Cabaña. 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, Señor Català, 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 shore, 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 passages, 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 moiré (I mean the moiré 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 moiré 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 moiré and the fast-melting ices.

From the Cabaña 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 grass, following the line of the subterranean passage, 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 assembled 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 Señor 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-ships 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.