For many years, however, its glories have been declining, and during the last few decades the upper and middle cla.s.ses have taken scant part in the festivities. I can remember, however, many years ago, seeing the famous ribbon dance performed by people of quality in the open streets.

A gaily-dressed youth walked in front of the company, holding a pole, from which floated a number of coloured ribbons, which the various couples held in their hands, and threaded into a kind of plait as they moved gracefully round the leader of this _al fresco_ cotillon. It was a very pretty sight to see hundreds of masqueraders parading the streets, engaged in this graceful pastime, and each band accompanied by a group of musicians. Throughout the carnival the negroes are allowed to mingle with the white population in all festivities, and even in the great gala procession of carriages, which pa.s.ses round the gaily decorated city during three successive afternoons, the negroes' donkey tandems and brilliantly draped waggons are permitted to take their places among the equipages of their masters. The negroes formerly went about the streets masked and disguised, and as they formed one-third of the population, there was no lack of variety of costume, but neither bon-bons nor flower throwing had any place in this somewhat formal pageant. The Cubans evidently do not appreciate cut blossoms, for you rarely, if ever, see a bouquet in their houses, although their gardens simply blaze with every sort of flowers.

After sunset the revel begins in earnest. The negroes come out in their thousands, carrying lighted Chinese lanterns hanging from the top of bamboo poles. They shout and leap, and at every open s.p.a.ce they dance to the sound of tom-toms and horns, their two chief musical instruments.

All the theatres have a masked ball, that of the _Tacon_[14], which is the finest and largest theatre in the Southern Hemisphere, being exclusively devoted to the upper and middle cla.s.ses. Here there is a great display of jewellery, the ladies, as in Italy, wearing the little loup mask and a domino, while most of the gentlemen are in evening dress. Of recent years, the ball at the _Tacon_ has greatly diminished in gaiety and local colour. The usual European dances fill the entire programme, and there is very little difference between this _veglione_ and any in Nice, Rome, or Naples.

At the "Payrete," an immense theatre near the _Tacon_, matters are quite otherwise, and the coloured element largely prevails. An outlandish orchestra, consisting of the usual horns and tom-toms, bangs a wild, savage melody, with a kind of irregular rhythm, marking time, but without the faintest vestige of tune. The couples stand and jig, facing each other,--occasionally in a manner which is better left undefined, but usually with a solemnity defying all description. Now and again the male dancers utter a piercing whoop, and the couples forthwith change sides. It is impossible to conceive that fun or amus.e.m.e.nt can be extracted from such a monotonous performance. But that these good people do find enjoyment in it cannot be questioned, since they frequently continue performing this dance, which is known as the "Cubana," for many hours at a stretch, without moving a yard from the spot where they began. Another popular dance is the Canga, a sort of slow waltz, which, when danced by the cla.s.s which dances in public in Havana, is the most indecent spectacle conceivable. Meanwhile the barbaric orchestra bangs ever, making noise enough to raise the dead--tom-tom whack, tom-tom wick, tom-tom whoop--_e da capo_. It ends by maddening the European ear, and the onlooker is forced to bolt or risk an epileptic seizure, or some such misfortune. This weird carnival ball, as seen from a box, is one of the most singular sights imaginable, but the spectator must make up his mind to evil smells as well as noise--all the perfumes of Araby would not sweeten the theatre. The scenes in the brightly lighted streets outside struck me as infinitely preferable. The crowded cafes, before which groups of smartly dressed young negro mandolinists play, and very creditably, selections from popular operas, in the confident hope of being treated to ices, or something stronger, have a distinct and original charm. Punctually at twelve o'clock on Shrove Tuesday the cannon boomed from Morro Castle, announcing that King Carnival had just expired. On the morrow, the pious crowded the churches to receive the penitential ashes. Lent began in earnest, and was very rigorously kept, so far as the eating of flesh was concerned. An average Cuban negro would sooner take poison than a mouthful of meat on the abstinence days, although, I fear, his moral sense might easily be weighed and found wanting in other particulars.

The Cubans, notwithstanding their worship of the tom-tom and the horn, and the popularity of noisy music, possibly imported from Africa by the Congo slaves who swarm on the big plantations, are a very musical race.

The _Tacon_ opera-house, which can accommodate 5,000 persons, is, in its way, a very fine theatre, built in Italian fashion with tiers of boxes, one above another. They are separated by gilded lattices, so as to afford every possible means of ventilation. Round each tier of boxes is a sort of ambulatory or verandah, overlooking the great Square. The upper gallery is exclusively devoted to the coloured people, who, on a Sunday, fill it to suffocation. They are considered the most critical part of the audience, and their appreciation or disapproval is generally well founded, and liberally demonstrated. The first two rows of boxes belong to the aristocracy and wealthy merchants, and the display of jewellery on a gala night used to be quite amazing. The lower part of the house is divided into a pit and orchestra stalls. When crowded, the _Tacon_ presents a really fine appearance. The stage is, I should say, as large as that at Covent Garden, and the operas are perfectly mounted and staged. A great peculiarity of this theatre is the orchestra, which is of almost unrivalled excellence, although at least one half of its performers are coloured, and some of them full-blooded negroes. I think I am correct in saying that on several occasions the conductor himself has been a coloured gentleman. Two of the very best performances of _Ada_ (with Campanini and Volpini) I ever enjoyed, I saw at the _Tacon_, where some of the greatest vocalists of the present century have appeared, including Malibran, Grisi, Mario, Alboni, Tedesco, Patti, Nilsson, Nevada and Guerrabella (Miss Genevieve Ward). I have seen it stated that Mme. Adelina Patti made her debut in the Filarmonia of Havana. This is an error. This theatre is at Santiago, and it was there the fascinating prima donna won her first laurels. Her mother and father, Signor and Signora Barili Patti, both of them singers of the first rank, made, if I am not misinformed, their last appearance on the stage at the Tacon theatre. The Cubans do not care for the Spanish national drama. They prefer adaptations from the French and Italian; and Havana, unlike Mexico, has not produced a single dramatist of note.

Spanish companies come every year from Madrid, but they are rarely well patronised. On the other hand, Ristori, Salvini, Duse, and Sarah Bernhardt have received almost divine honours in the Cuban capital.

One night I dropped into the _Torrecillas_, a little fourth-rate house, and on going to the box-office to pay for my seat, to my utter astonishment I found the employee absent, although the theatre was open, and a crowd thronging in to attend a gratuitous rehearsal of a piece which was to be performed on the following evening for money. The house was dimly lighted. The orchestra consisted of a piano, and the back scene was formed of odds and ends of scenery jumbled together in the funniest confusion. A stoutish young fellow, a sort of Sancho Panza, was rehearsing the company, the ladies of which lounged about in various parts of the house, smoking incessant cigarettes. The play was one of the kind known in Spain as a "Zarzuela," or farce. The plot was simple enough, dealing with the adventures of a runaway negro, who tried to become manager of a strolling troupe of players. The fun consisted in admirable delineation of each character, and the spirited acting. One scene, representing the appearance of the troupe at Mocha, a country village, was irresistibly droll. Some of the actors went down among the audience, pretending to be country spectators, and cracked excellent jokes at the expense of the troupe on the topics of the day, and popular abuses in general. In the last scene the national "Garacha" was admirably danced. It is as objectionable, in itself, as the "Cubana,"

but it was quite transformed by the grace of the artists.

The bull-ring and the c.o.c.k-pit are still national inst.i.tutions throughout Cuba. Each city has its ring and its c.o.c.k-pit. I drove out one Sunday to the "Galleria," as it is called, at the corner of the Calle Manuel, in a rather low quarter of Havana. I found a motley a.s.sembly of beggars, cake-vendors, and negroes, hanging about the entry and the box office, if so I may call it, which was neat and smart enough for a metropolitan theatre. The price of admission to the best seats was only two shillings. Pa.s.sing a bar, before which a noisy crowd was drinking gin and _aguardiente_, blaspheming and quarrelling, I found myself in the "Galleria," which is of circular form built of open wood-work, exactly like two large round hen-coops placed one on top of another. There were four galleries, with several rows of chairs, thronged by an excited betting crowd, which included the usual proportion of negroes, but no women. As I entered, a fight had just come to a close, and the noise was deafening. Everybody was shouting and gesticulating at once. In a few moments the bell rang, and comparative silence ensued. The ring was cleared, and two men appeared in the centre, each holding a beautiful bird in his hands. The Cuban breed of c.o.c.ks, although small, is remarkably well-proportioned and elegant. I am no expert in c.o.c.k-fighting and will simply jot down my impressions of the combat. At first I found it interesting enough, but, by and by, when the stronger bird crippled its antagonist, the poor, bleeding creature was artificially excited to continue the battle to the bitter end, by being "restored" with spoonfuls of Santa Cruz rum blown in a spray from the mouth of its owner over its head, and the sight grew simply disgusting. I was relieved when it was all over, and the poor, beautiful bird lay dead. The audience interested me far more than the fight. The people around me were so absorbed in the death struggle that some faces grew ashen pale, others flushed, their eyes rolled, they roared, they bellowed, and they pantomimed from the lower to the upper galleries. Dore alone could have done justice to the scene, but, picturesque though it was, it was a degrading exhibition of cruelty and base pa.s.sion. The upper cla.s.ses, I am glad to say, have long ceased to frequent the "Galleria," and some of the best houses have even closed their doors to young men known to be frequenters of these c.o.c.k-pits. I did not see a bull-fight while I was in Cuba. They were, I suppose, not in season, otherwise they are as frequent and as popular there as in Spain and the south of France. They are conducted in exactly the same ceremonious and pageantic manner as in Spain, and almost as magnificently, and, needless to say, they are as b.l.o.o.d.y, if not more so, and quite as demoralizing. If it were not hypocrisy on the part of an Englishman in these days of "general bookmaking," when the "special,"

announcing the names of the "winners," is more eagerly bought up than any containing political news of the highest importance, I might descant on the immorality of the Cuban weekly lottery. Everybody is interested in it, and I am a.s.sured it is "a curse" to the country. Doubtless it is so, and so, indeed, are our own "winners." Gambling in some shape or other seems inherent in the human race, and I cannot see much difference between the Havanese lottery and our own racecourse. Both are equally dangerous to those who cannot afford to bet. In Cuba the wretched negro starves himself to put his last penny on some favourite number, and in London the bootblack goes without his dinner in the hope of doubling the "winner."

CHAPTER VII.

MATANZAS.

The immediate environs of Havana are disappointing, although some of the neighbouring villages are pretty enough. Every visitor to Havana is sure to be taken to three places--Puentes Grandes, Marianao, and Carmelo. A little railway carries you, as slowly as steam can do it, in about an hour, out to Marianao. If it were not for the groups of palm trees and the huge plantain leaves, generally very dusty and tattered, hanging over the garden walls, you might easily mistake the country for certain districts in Northern France. It undulates, just as it does in Normandy, up and down over low-lying hills, and the straight roads, bordered with coca palm trees, reminded me forcibly of the poplar avenues round Rouen.

Before very long, however, you are made aware that you are under the Southern Cross, for, just before you reach your destination, you form your first acquaintance with the banyan tree, of which there is a celebrated group, considered one of the finest in the West Indies, standing in the middle of a field. The central tree, which must be of great age, is of vast size. From its upper branches it has cast down numerous feelers, which, in their turn, have become big trees, and so the one growth contrives to cover some four or five acres of ground.

After you have amused yourself by walking in and out of the innumerable arches and avenues formed by this grand specimen of perhaps the most extraordinary species of tree in existence, you follow a narrow path, and walk on to Marianao, a Cuban village boasting an odd-looking church painted a vivid blue, and some very nice country houses, embedded in orange and banana orchards. There are a number of restaurants in the place, and on Sundays the foreign residents, especially the Germans, come out here to eat supper and drink lager-beer. What pleased me most about Marianao were the country lanes, which are bordered by hedgerows covered with delightful creepers, the coral,--with its cl.u.s.ters of pink and white flowers,--the morning glory, with its wealth of azure blossoms,--the scarlet pa.s.sion flower,--the blue sweet pea,--and a species of wild stephanotis, with an overpowering scent.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MATANZAS.]

Puentes Grandes lies half-way between Marianao and Havana. It possesses the only nail factory in the country, worked by several hundred coolies.

Carmello is a village of restaurants and cabarets, situated at the head of a little sandy bay glorified by a tradition that it was once visited by Columbus. Hither people drive out of an evening from Havana, to eat oysters, lobsters, and other crustacea, and, above all, to enjoy the cool sea breeze. Here I first beheld the most astonishing of all flowers--the _aristolochia pelicana_. It is a variety of the _aristolochia spho_, which has been recently brought over to England from America and acclimatised, and which is popularly known as the "Dutchman's pipe," on account of the peculiar shape of the flower, which is exactly like a little tobacco-pipe. The Cuban variety is a st.u.r.dy creeper, with enormous, heart-shaped leaves. This flower must be seen to be appreciated. When open, it presents the appearance of a huge porous plaster about a foot in diameter. The edge is perfectly white and waxy, the centre a dark brown, with a slit in the middle, opening into a pod-shaped cup, and furnished with sharp bristles, usually garnished with drops of syrup, to allure the flies and other insects, which, when once they enter that little "parlour," find themselves in a veritable ogre's castle, whence no escape is possible, for the hungry flower soon absorbs and devours them. When the pouch is full,--and it will contain several hundred insects,--the enormous flower closes, and a.s.sumes the exact shape of a beautiful white duck. Severed from its stem, and placed in the centre of a bouquet of flowers, or on a sheet of looking-gla.s.s in the centre of a dining-table, this weird flower produces a very startling effect. It is the custom in Havana to place one of these strange freaks of nature in the centre of a bouquet, which is always offered to a successful prima-donna on her first appearance at the National Theatre.

One fine morning towards the middle of Lent I left Havana with a friend, to make a tour of the other cities of the island, beginning with Matanzas.

A Cuban railway is unlike any other railway in the world. The carriages are built on the American plan, with a promenade from end to end, but there are no gla.s.s windows, and when one considers the heat, one is thankful that there are no cushions, to harbour dust and insects. The conductor stands in front, and is perpetually ringing a bell, which does not seem to help on the speed of the train in the very least degree.

Havana has no far-stretching suburbs, like most European cities, and you very soon find yourself quite in the open country. It chanced that, on this particular morning, a thick, low fog hung like a misty veil over the fields, and the lofty palm trees shot up into the clear atmosphere above in the most fantastic manner. However, by-and-bye, as the sun grew stronger, the mist lifted entirely, and towards midday we found ourselves pa.s.sing through an extremely pretty country, traversed in every direction by interminable lines of coca palm trees, which wound through the sugar-cane fields, otherwise not particularly picturesque.

We stopped for luncheon at a village called, I think, Rincon, where there is a regular Cuban buffet. The princ.i.p.al dish, I remember, was roast sucking-pig, cold but succulent. Coolies and negroes came round with baskets of fruit--bananas, pineapples, oranges, mangoes, and zapadillos. After this station, we travelled between rocky cliffs, in the fissures of which grew the most exquisite ferns I have ever seen out of a hot-house, the hardy, glossy, oak-leaf fern, so sought after in Covent Garden Market being especially plentiful. At last, after a pleasant, but deadly slow journey, we arrived safely at Matanzas, which, after the capital and Santiago, is by far the most flourishing city in the island. Its real name is San Carlos, though it is popularly known as Matanzas, or the "Butcheries." Most of the encyclopaedias inform you that it is so called after a frightful ma.s.sacre of Caribbees, which took place early in the 16th century. This is an error. There was no city here till 1649, when the town was founded on the site of an old slaughter-house, owned by the Havana butchers.

We drove straight from the station to the "Leon de Oro," reputed the best hotel in the island. Cuban hotels, even those in the capital, are none of them of superlative excellence, and although in all that concerns the elegances of life the "Inglaterra", the "Louvre" and the "Pasage" at Havana are infinitely superior to the old "Leon de Oro,"

they are distinctly its inferiors in point of cleanliness, and, above all, in the matter of cooking.

Very brilliantly painted in fresco are the walls of the "Golden Lion" of Matanzas. Venus rises from the sea in your bedroom, or rather in that portion of an enormous dormitory which is allotted to you. Paris offers the golden apple to the three G.o.ddesses in the dining-room, and the whole court of Olympus, more or less successfully limned by an Italian artist, occupies the lofty walls of the general sitting-room on the first and only floor. The waiters are nearly all Coolies, and very clean and tidy they are. The landlady, in the days of my youth, was a French, coloured dame of enormous size, but also of almost preternatural activity. "Madame" was everywhere, upstairs and downstairs, and never seemed to go to sleep. It mattered little at what hour of the day or night you happened to come in, you were sure to find the old lady, with a huge turban on her head, ready to bid you welcome, with the very broadest of smiles. As my friend and myself had brought her a letter, which, by-the-way, she could not read, of introduction from one of her Havanese patrons, she made a prodigious fuss in our honour. She felt sure, she said, that, being Englishmen, we should like to have a bedroom all to ourselves, to which reasonable proposition we very naturally a.s.sented. Presently she took us upstairs to a very long and very lofty dormitory, furnished with about a dozen bra.s.s bedsteads, arranged against the walls in a double line, each duly protected by mosquito curtains, and supplemented by a table, a chair, an iron tripod, bearing a basin and jug, and a flat candlestick. Having paraded us once or twice up and down this apartment, she suddenly stopped in front of two neat little bedsteads standing side by side, and, pointing to them, informed us in Creole French (she came from Martinique) that she destined them for our accommodation. But what about the proffered privacy? Were we to dress and undress in the presence of the strange occupants of the other dozen beds, and were we to be soothed, or otherwise, throughout the dreary watches of the night, by their combined snores. We resolved, between ourselves, to make no comment, to leave fate and Madame to work out our destiny. We descended to our dinner without venturing the least observation. When we went upstairs again to unpack our travelling trunks, we were heartily amused to find that the worthy old soul had fenced us off from our future companions, with four long sheets, fastened by old-fashioned washing-pegs, to a rope stretched tightly across the room.

I remember we had an excellent dinner, the best we had yet eaten in Cuba. There was a very good broth--_sopa de pan_--followed by a fair preparation of fresh fish--_pescado frito_. Then came a great national dish--sheeps' brains fried in b.u.t.ter, with tomato sauce, succeeded by a reasonably fat and tender chicken, _a la Creola_, that is to say, with a delicious sauce made with various vegetables; and a dish of _ternero asado_ (roast veal) ended what might be termed the serious portion of the meal. Then came guava jelly, eaten with little cakes, and a splendid dessert of fresh bananas,--the small, stumpy, fat one, _plantano de Guinea_, is the only one which is eaten as a fruit in Cuba. The large ones, of the sort sent to England, are considered as vegetables, and either fried as a separate dish, like potatoes, or cut up in slices and used in salads. The Cuban oranges are magnificent, very large, pale in colour, and innocent of seeds. The pine-apples are, of course, splendid, and are cooked as sweet dishes, in a variety of ways. There is one necessary of life which you are obliged to dispense with, and that is b.u.t.ter, which is only likely to appear in the houses of the very rich, or at one or two of the best hotels in Havana. There is an appalling decoction called _mantiquella_, which is kept in a bottle, and poured out for the benefit of American and English visitors, who are asked to believe it is b.u.t.ter! G.o.d save the mark, it's exactly like train-oil.

Everything is fried in olive oil, but of excellent quality, so you soon learn to do without b.u.t.ter to your bread, and, indeed, with as little bread as may be, for nowhere is it very good. Otherwise, Cuban cooking is not bad when once the traveller knows the ropes, and what to order.

It is certainly much better than the Spanish _cuisine_. There is a Cuban cookery book in the British Museum, printed and published in Havana in the year 1879, the perusal of which I commend to those of my readers who are interested in such matters. They will learn how to make some excellent and very succulent dishes. Cuban cooks are not strong on sweetmeats, and they rarely, if ever, attempt pastry. On the other hand, their fruit cheeses, especially the famous guava jelly, are worthy of their world-wide renown. Ice was only introduced into the island about forty years ago, and is even now considered a great luxury; but a cocoa-nut gathered before dawn, and kept as much in the shade as possible until wanted, is the most refreshing of drinks. The milk which it contains is icy cold, and with a few spoonfuls of rum or brandy, and a little sugar thrown in, is really excellent. Then, too, wherever you go, you are sure to be offered _narangiata_, or orangeade, which all Cubans make to perfection. Excellent Spanish and French wines and lager beer are to be had in almost all the inns.

The lower part of every Cuban hotel is used as a cafe and restaurant, and stands open to the four winds of heaven. It begins to fill immediately after sunset, and in warm weather is never empty until four o'clock in the morning. In the middle of the cafe is the kitchen, and in the centre of the kitchen will be found an indispensable retreat which does not add to the sanitary advantages of the establishment.

Otherwise, a Cuban kitchen affords much interest and amus.e.m.e.nt to those in search of the picturesque. Round it are arranged little open charcoal stoves, above which are suspended an endless number of copper saucepans.

Sometimes, up in a corner, is an image of our Lady of Guadaloupe, blessing, apparently, from the interior of her gla.s.s case, the motley gathering of cooks of all ages and colours, who are intently busy doing nothing. Here on the floor sits a little darkie sh.e.l.ling peas, and near him another small sable urchin howls because his ears have just been boxed for licking his fingers. Yonder is a group of chattering mulatresses whipping a cream, and there "Madame" herself roars at the top of her voice at the chief cook, standing frying chicken livers, strung on a skewer, over one of the innumerable charcoal fires, whose fumes would suffocate the whole noisy party, if this weird kitchen were not, but for its ceiling, quite an open air arrangement, for there are no gla.s.s windows anywhere in the house, the only protection against a storm being the green venetian blinds.

Our first night at the "Leon de Oro" was a memorable one. The hotel was packed, and, notwithstanding the seclusion of our canvas walls, it was impossible to get a wink of sleep,--in the first place, on account of the mosquitoes, and in the second on that of the chorus of snores which resounded on all sides after two o'clock in the morning, when our neighbours, after chattering among themselves like so many magpies, and even singing in chorus, finally succ.u.mbed to the claims of nature, and tumbled to sleep. The next day Madame found us two small rooms at the top of the house, where we were quite comfortable for the rest of our visit.

Matanzas is a well-built city, situated on a very beautiful bay, and backed by an admirable range of hills. Two rivers flow through it, the Yumurri and San Juan. The fine Plaza de Armas, in front of the Cathedral, and in the very centre of the town, is planted with a double row of magnificent acacias. The church, dedicated to St Charles, is fair sized, and has an imposing tower, but is not otherwise interesting.

There are two other smaller churches in the town, but Matanzas is looked upon, throughout the country, as anything but orthodox. There are, however, several convents, and two very well managed hospitals. The fashionable quarter of the city is called "Versailles." Here the wealthier citizens have built themselves a number of beautiful villas, in the usual cla.s.sical, one-storied style. These dazzling white marble columns, elaborate iron-work balconies, mosaic pavements and handsome porticoes, are doubtless a very accurate reproduction of the sort of house which lined the Via Appia in the palmy days of ancient Rome. Most of these houses are frescoed with mythological subjects, and painted in bright colours, whose somewhat garish tones are subdued by the deep green of the wonderful vegetation which surrounds them, and by the dazzling glare of the sunlight, which, pouring down from the deepest of blue skies, seems to mellow even the gaudiest colours into delightful harmony.

The chief attractions of Matanzas are not, however, within the city walls, but a pleasant drive's distance beyond its gates. The first of these are the far-famed caves of Bellamar. There are certain much-talked-of wonders of nature, the first sight of which is apt to disappoint you,--Niagara Falls, for instance, and even the Mammoth Caves of Kentucky; but the Matanzas caverns are so dazzlingly beautiful that you are both astonished and delighted. They surprise by their size, they fascinate by the clearness and brilliance of their crystal walls. The first chamber, called the "Gothic Temple," is 250 feet in length by 83 in width. Its walls are of pure crystal. From the lofty roof hang monster stalact.i.tes covered with millions of flashing crystals full of prismatic hues. Following the guide, who carries a limelight, you next enter a large hall, or chamber, which looks absolutely as if it had been made of whipped cream. Then, after pa.s.sing through endless crystal halls, you reach the _fuente de nieve_, the snow-fountain, in which the stalact.i.tes have a.s.sumed the semblance of a cascade of frosted snow.

These caves extend for about three miles, and are between 300 and 500 feet below the surface of the earth, and may therefore be reckoned amongst the largest in the world. They were discovered quite accidentally, some fifty years ago, by the workmen of a certain Don Manuel Santos Parga, who, whilst digging in this vicinity, fell into what afterwards proved to be one of the princ.i.p.al of the thirty-eight halls, or caves, which have subsequently been discovered. To the credit of their proprietor, they are most beautifully kept, no one being allowed to use smoky torches, or defile the crystals in any way, and commodious bridges and foot-paths, which add considerably to the comfort of the visitor, have been built at the owner's expense.

The next attraction of Matanzas is the famous valley of the Yumurri. To see it to perfection, it should be visited, not by pale moonlight, but at the decline of day, when the sun is setting behind the low-lying hills on the opposite side of the fertile valley, through which the Yumurri river meanders like a silver ribbon, fringed with innumerable tiny tributary streams, which immensely increase the productive powers of this magnificent expanse of richly cultivated land. The vegetation is indescribably beautiful and varied. Every sort of palm tree grows, and as the land is undulating in character, the panorama is broken up in the most charming manner, by groups of slender columns, surmounted by waving plumes, which intercept, without impeding, the view of golden cane fields and the tender green coffee plantations which stretch in all directions, until it fades into the delicate mauve tint of approaching evening. The view over the valley of the Yumurri is one of those glorious things which a Milton might have described, a Turner or a Martin might have painted. It baffles the efforts of my humble pen. All I can say is that I have seen a good half of the fair world in which man is called to spend his petty span, but never have my eyes rested on any scene which could equal this in poetic loveliness. It is a fragment, surely, left of that Paradise from which our first parents managed between them to shut out their descendants for ever. We lingered long, wondering at the beauty of it all, quite unable to tear ourselves away.

The sun, having pa.s.sed through the closing phases of its daily course, became a ball of glowing fire, and quenched itself within a violet cloud. The moon rose and flooded the happy valley with golden radiance, so brilliant that only the stars in the larger constellations, such as the Southern Cross, were visible.

CHAPTER VIII.

CIENFUEGOS.

To my mind, Cienfuegos is the Cuban port which should, under a sensible and progressive administration, offer the finest prospect for future development and prosperity. The bay is extremely beautiful, and on its deep expanse the combined fleets of the nations might anchor in perfect security. Four rivers, which might easily be rendered navigable, the Damuji, the Salado, the Caonao, and the Orimao, flow into its waters.

Here, in the brighter times to come, when the Spaniards shall cease from troubling and the rebels be at rest, will surely be the capital of a new Cuba.

Cienfuegos is on the direct line to Panama, and, once the isthmus is cut, must become of vast commercial importance. At present it contains less than 20,000 inhabitants, and its trade is of no exceptional value.

It is not an ancient city. It only dates from the beginning of the present century, and derives its name from the celebrated Cuban general, Cienfuegos. The church, a very hideous edifice, much older than the town, contains a famous Madonna, whose robes of cloth of gold and violet velvet were presented by Queen Isabella II., and who is the object of many pious pilgrimages. The inns are fairly good, for Cuba. In one of them, La Fonda de Paris, I was nipped by a scorpion, and that hotel is consequently bound up, as far as I am concerned, with very unpleasant a.s.sociations.

The country round Cienfuegos is far more interesting than the town, and a long drive enabled me to form the acquaintance of a very interesting type of Cuban--the Guajiro, or white peasant, who abounds in this part of the island, where many of them cultivate a few acres, and live a life quite distinct from that of the rest of the world. The Guajiro is generally of Catalonian or Andalusian origin. Many trace their descent a long way back to ancestors who came over to Cuba a century or two ago.

As a rule, the men are handsome, manly fellows. They sit a horse as if born on its back, and seem, like the centaurs of yore, to form part and parcel of the animal. Their dialect, a mixture of Spanish and of African, picked up among the negroes, is exceedingly difficult to understand. The Guajiro used to be a slave-owner, and a terribly hard task-master was he, for if there is one thing he hates more than another, it is work. He enjoys sitting in the shade, smoking his cigarette, and lazily, drowsily, watching his female belongings at their labour. On the other hand, when roused to effort, he can perform miracles: ride heaven only knows how many miles, in the blazing sun, and build a palm hut in a few hours. Living from hand to mouth, rarely, if ever, taking the trouble to cultivate his tiny domain properly, the true Guajiro is a perfect ill.u.s.tration of the fact that "man wants but little here below." His chief food consists of bananas hot, and bananas cold, of tomatoes, and other vegetables and fruits unknown in European markets, which are said to be both excellent and nourishing. He rarely touches meat, except pork, on which he mainly feeds, but he often catches fish for his dinner, and looks upon an iguana or a bull-frog as a desirable delicacy. When he is not a liliputian landowner, he earns his living as a herdsman, for, from childhood up, he has acquired a vast experience in the management of cattle and horses--and, above all, of n.i.g.g.e.rs. Under these circ.u.mstances he is obliged to work. He hires himself out by the week or month, during the harvest season, like any other labourer, and thereby earns a fair wage, which he spends freely, on Sundays and _fiestas_, in the taverns, or in betting at c.o.c.k-fights or at the bull-ring.

The Guajiro who owns a few acres of land is a far more interesting individual than his fellow, the hired labourer. He is so gloriously, insolently, independent. What cares he for the luxuries of life, if he have but a dish of bananas for his dinner, and a smart suit of clothes in his chest to wear o' Sundays? Six days out of the seven see him pottering about his farmyard, a magnificent dunghill, on which his brood of dark-eyed urchins flourishes in primitive costumes, and spends its time in festive sports, together with the family dogs, pigs, and cows.

On high days and holidays he makes himself very smart, dons his white "ducks" and his untanned pig-skin boots, his gaudy waistband, and his broad-brimmed straw hat. The rest of the time he wears his pants and his jacket only. A born musician, he plays the guitar, and often sings charmingly. Sometimes that modern wandering Jew, the Italian organ-grinder, accompanied by a monkey, stops in the dusty road in front of the Guajiro's domicile, and tunes up "Il Baccio," or the "Blue Danube Waltz," whereupon the Guajiro and his wife and their brood fall into an ecstacy of wonderment, and reward the musician liberally, being under the impression that his music is due to his skill and not to mere mechanical contrivance.

The Guajira (the Missis) is also a character in her way. On her shoulders, poor soul, falls the burden of the heavier work, all except tending the cattle. She does the cooking, such as it is! She mends the family rags, and washes them, and looks after the skinny fowls--nothing on earth will fatten a Cuban fowl! Above all she keeps a vigilant eye on her mischievous flock of Guajiritos, who never learn to read or write, but sprawl about the filthy yard, or, when they are old enough, depart on joyous expeditions in the woods, to search for natural curiosities fit for food, such as iguanas, lizards, a large fat black snake, said to be very tender, and better than an eel, frogs as big as your head, and other such horrors, which the Guajira converts into succulent dishes.

The family mansion is built of palm branches, and has a rickety, earthquaky appearance about it, that may be very picturesque, but must be very uncomfortable. The whole family sleeps on the straw-littered floor. Such Guajiros as I visited seemed to be happy enough, but in the rainy season they often suffer from rheumatism, ague, and other like diseases. Thousands of them have joined the rebellion, in the hope of its eventually leading to a betterment in their condition, which, as they get into closer contact with civilization, grows daily less endurable.

The Guajiro of bygone times, with his bright eyes and his guitar, is the starving reconcentrado of to-day. I like to think of him as he was, not as he is. Let us, therefore, behold the Senor and the Senora Guajiro in all the glory of their war-paint, _en route_ for the procession of the Angel, for instance, in their village church of Santa-Fe. The Senor is dressed up in all his Sunday go-to-meeting best, a costume very like that of our own coster-boys, and the same blood doubtless courses through their veins, for I am a.s.sured, on authority, that Whitechapel 'Arry and his "donah" originally came from the sunny land of Spain, in Merry King Charles II.'s time, to sell oranges to benighted Britishers, and that, liking us and our ways, he then and there condescended to take up his abode amongst us. Certainly the Cuban Guajiro shares 'Arry's propensity for mother-of-pearl and silver b.u.t.tons, with which he covers every available part of his clothing, his jacket, his waistcoat, and his trousers. By her lord's side tramps the faithful Guajira, a very beautiful young matron, frequently, with delicate, regular features and soft brown eyes with sweeping lashes. Her gown is made of gaudy chintz, patterned with flaring bunches of roses. Most probably the fabric was made in England in the tasteless early Victorian days, and intended as furniture covering. Its train sweeps up a cloud of dust, for it would be derogatory for any respectable Guajira to lift her skirts like those miserable English and American women, who hold up their petticoats to their knees, and go picking their way along as if they were treading on eggs and were afraid of breaking them. The very negresses know better.

Nevertheless, the Guajira takes good care to display her very small, brown, stockingless feet, thrust into a pair of green or red zapatos, or slippers, in which she intends to dance the Creola. Over her shoulders is a China c.r.a.pe shawl, either white or rose-coloured--a wedding present,--and her raven tresses are set off by a bunch of wax-like stephanotis or of scarlet hibiscus. Before and behind their parents trot the "family," some dozen of them, the baby borne in the arms of a small but very gorgeous negress. As to these little brown ones, I have seen them trotting along without a st.i.tch of clothing, with their hair very neatly brushed and their small tawny feet encased in patent leather shoes, the whole shaded by an old scarlet parasol. Sometimes, however, the Guajiro and the Guajira may be particularly well-to-do, and in this case they do not condescend to trapese along the dusty roads like the common of mortals, negroes and mulattoes and "sich'z," but make a triumphal entry on horseback, or on a little Cuban pony, gloriously bedecked with silver and bra.s.s bells and b.u.t.tons, and long tags of yellow and red worsted b.a.l.l.s. Or else they come along on bullock-back, the Guajira sitting sideways on the beast's back, keeping her position by clinging to her husband's waistband. Nothing quainter or more picturesque can be imagined than this, to European ideas, queerest of methods of locomotion. The bullock gallops clumsily enough, but seems to fancy himself immensely in his rather novel character of horse. If, perchance, you meet a dozen or so of these singular equestrians, you are likely to retain a pleasant recollection of their picturesqueness to your dying day.[15]

But let us hasten, or else we shall lose our Guajiro and Guajira in the crowd in the _fiesta_, and that would be a sad pity. Their first duty is to go to church, where we shall see them praying with pathetic sincerity before the illuminated shrine of Our Lady of the Cobre or of Guadalupe.

No philosophical doubt haunts the consciences of these good folk. G.o.d and His Blessed Mother hear every word they say to Them, and, as they are on very friendly terms with the Powers that be, they place their affairs most frankly before Them, firmly believing that if they do their best to keep straight, according to their lights, their prayers will surely be heard, else why pray at all? They have a good deal to pray for. The Guajiro slily asks that he may be inspired to bet on the winning c.o.c.k, and the Guajira has a yellow lottery ticket in her bosom, the number of which was selected at the instance of a notorious African witch. Now that was very wrong, and the Guajira's mind is not at all easy on the subject, for the new Cura, Padre Pablo has told her over and over again that Lolla, the witch, is a black limb of Satan, and that if things were as they ought to be, she would long ago have been burnt at the stake. But still, if Our Lady would but make that number win, there would be ten or twenty dollars to the good, and see what a lot of comforts that would enable her to get. And, besides that, is not the old Guajiro's grandmother, who is nearly a hundred, ill at home, and is she not always wanting medicine, and things that poor people cannot afford to buy, and, the children are really getting too old to go about without any clothing, especially Ca.s.sandrina, who is nearly seven years of age.

But how is one to buy dresses, in these hard times, for growing wenches, even if they are one's own children, unless a little windfall drops into one's lap? Therefore, "O Most Pitiful Lady of the Cobre, ask your Son, whose image wears such a pretty frock of sky blue satin, with a golden fringe, to let old black Lolla's number win. _Por amor de Dios._"

Being perfectly satisfied that their prayers are duly registered in the Court of Heaven, the worthy couple and their brood, who, by-the-way, have been staring all the time, with eyes as big as halfpence, at the gorgeous robes of Our Lady of the Cobre, flock out of church into the broad, sunny plaza, where, although it is only six o'clock a.m.

(everything in Cuba is done at an unearthly hour on account of the heat), the Procession is already beginning to form, so as to be over before High Ma.s.s begins. Bless me, how magnificent it all is! So much better done than in the days of the old Cura, a dreadful old person, concerning whom there were so many queer stories. Since our blessed Pope, Leo XIII., has come to the throne, things _have_ changed for the better.