In the Courts of Memory 1858 1875. by L. de Hegermann Lindencrone

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I said to Zerrahn, after: "Could you not have helped me? Could you not
have given me the note?"

"No," he answered. "Impossible! I could not ask the nearest violinist to
play the note, and I could not trust myself to find it. I was as nervous
as you were."

[Mrs. Moulton was called to Cambridge the next day. Mr. Moulton had died
suddenly.]

CUBA, HAVANA, _January, 1873._

DEAR MAMA,--We left New York in a fearful blizzard. It was snowing,
hailing, blowing, and sleeting; in fact, everything that the elements
could do they did on that particular day. We were muffled up to our ears
in sealskin coats, furs, boas, and so forth, and were piloted over the wet
and slippery deck to our stateroom on the upper deck, which we wished had
been on the under deck, as it was continually washed by the "wild waves."

We knew pretty well "what the wild waves were saying"; at least Laura did,
and they kept on saying it until well into the next day.

I being an old sailor (not in years but in experience), as I had crossed
the Atlantic several times, felt very superior on this occasion, and
looked down without sympathy on the maiden efforts of my suffering sister;
and, having dressed, goaded her almost to distraction to get up and do
likewise, which she obstinately refused to do.

After ordering breakfast I ventured out on deck, to find myself alone,
among deserted camp-stools. I realized then that the others preferred
"rocking in the cradle of the deep" in their berths and in the privacy of
their cabins. I myself felt very shaky as I stumbled about on the deck
holding on to the rails, and I, hurrying back to the haven of my
stateroom, happened to meet the struggling steward endeavoring to balance
the tray containing the breakfast I had ordered, and to make his way
through my door.

The steward, the tray, and I all collided. The result was disastrous: the
food made a bee-line for the ceiling, the drinkables flooded the already
wet floor and our shoes, while cups, saucers, plates, and dishes were
scattered to fragments.

All that day we and every one were dreadfully sick; but what a contrast
the next day was! A hot, tropical sun blazed down on us, the awnings were
put up, the ladies appeared in lighter costumes, the men in straw hats and
thin jackets. How odious our warm wraps and rugs seemed! And how
completely our discomforts of the day before had disappeared! Laura had
forgotten her miseries, and was already planning another sea-trip, and
eagerly scanning the menu for dinner, to which she did ample justice.

The third day was still hotter; parasols, summer dresses, and fans made
their appearance, and at four o'clock we saw Morro Castle and the
lighthouse; and we steamed (literally, for we were so hot) up the
exquisite harbor, where white Havana lay like a jewel on the breast of the
water.

Hot! It must have been one hundred and ninety in the shade--if there had
been any; but there was none. The glare of the whiteness of the city and
the reflection on the water, the air thick with perfumes, gave us a
tropical tinge, and made us shudder to think what we should have to endure
before we could rest in the hotel, which we hoped would be cool.

Young Isnaga, who has just come from Harvard College, where I knew him,
and who was now returning to his native land to help his father on the
plantation, served us as a guide; in fact, he was our Baedeker. He told us
that all those hundreds of little boats with coverings like hen-coops
stretched over them, which swarmed like bees about our steamer, did not
contain native ruffians demanding our money or our lives, as they seemed
to be doing, but were simply peaceable citizens hoping to earn an honest
penny.

We dreaded going through the custom-house in this excessive heat; but
Isnaga recognized one of his servants, in a small boat coming toward us,
gesticulating wildly and waving a paper; this paper meant, it seemed,
authority with the officials, so we had no delay, as Isnaga took us under
his wing. I almost wished that the custom-house had confiscated my thick
clothes and the fur-lined coat; and as for the boa, it looked like a
vicious constrictor of its own name, and I wished it at the bottom of the
sea.

Isnaga took us in his boat and landed us on the tropical "Plaza," where we
found his _volante_ waiting. He insisted on our getting into this unique
vehicle, which I will describe later when I have more time.

Our one thought was to reach the hotel, which we did finally, sending the
_volante_ back to its owner by a sweeping wave of the hand in the
direction of the quay, which the black Jehu seemed to comprehend.

Fortunately the proprietor spoke what he thought was English, and we were
able to secure very good rooms overlooking the harbor. How delicious the
cool, marble-floored room appeared to us! How we luxuriated in the fresh,
cold water, the juiciest of oranges, the iced pineapples, and all the
delicious fruits they brought us, and, above all, in the balmy air and the
feeling of repose and rest! We reappeared in the thinnest of gauzes for
the repast called dinner.

Adieu, cold and ice! _Vive le soleil!_

This hotel (San Carlos) is situated right on the bay. The quay in front of
us is garnished with a row of dwarfy trees and dirty benches, these last
being decorated, in their turn, by slumbering Cubans. There were
colonnades underneath the hotel, where there were small shops, from which
the odor of garlic and tobacco, combined with the shrieks and the snapping
of the drivers' whips, reached us, as we sat above them on our balcony.

The hotel is square, with an open courtyard in the middle, and all the
rooms open on to the marble gallery which surrounds the courtyard. This
gallery is used as a general dining-room; each person eats at his own
little iron table placed before the door of his bedroom.

Our large room contains two iron beds (minus mattresses), with only a
canvas screwed on the iron sides, but covered with the finest of linen
sheets. An iron frame holds the mosquito-net in place.

Evidently a wash-stand is a thing to be ashamed of, for they are concealed
in the most ingenious way. Mine in the daytime is rather an attractive
commode; Laura's is a writing-table, which at night opens up and discloses
the wash-basin. Otherwise there is little furniture: two cane-bottomed
chairs, two bamboo tables (twins); one has a blue ribbon tied on its leg
to tell it from its brother. Two ingeniously braided mats of linen cord do
duty for the _descente de lit_. Oh yes! there is a mirror for each of
us, which in my hurry to finish my letter I forgot to mention; but they
are so small and wavy that the less we look in them the better we are
satisfied with ourselves.

We have a large balcony, which has a beautiful view of the harbor and the
opposite shore, two huge wooden so-called windows, which are not windows,
opening on to the balcony. There is a panel in the middle which you can
open if you want some fresh air. Glass is never used for windows, so that
when you shut your window you are in utter darkness. Opposite is the door
which is not a door, but a sort of a gate with lattice shutters, giving
the room the look of a bar-room. There is space above the shutters which
is open to the ceiling.

Any one in the gallery who wanted to could stand on a chair and peer over.
Everything that goes on in the gallery, every noise, every conversation,
can be clearly overheard, and if one only understood the language it might
be very interesting.

The bars and locks on our doors and windows date from the fifteenth
century, I should say, and it is with the most herculean efforts that we
manage to shut ourselves in for the night; and we only know that the day
has broken when we hear the nasal and strident Cuban voices, and the
clattering of plates on the other side of the gate. Then we work like
galley-slaves unbarring, and the blazing sun floods our room.

I don't know if bells are popular in Havana; but in this hotel we have
none. If you want a chambermaid, which you do about every half-hour, you
must open your gate and clap your hands, and if she does not come you go
on clapping until some one else comes.

For our early breakfast we begin clapping at an early hour, and finally
our coffee and a huge plate filled with the most delicious oranges, cut
and sugared, are brought to us. We tried to obtain some simple toast; but
this seemed unknown to the Cuban cuisine, and we had to content ourselves
with some national mixture called rolls.

CUBA, _January 24, 1873._

The letters of introduction which kind Admiral Polo (Spanish Minister in
Washington) gave me must be very powerful and far reaching, for we are
received as if we were Princesses of the blood. The Governor-General came
directly to put himself, his house, his family, his Generalship--in fact,
all Cuba--_á la disposición de usted_. The Captain of the Port appeared in
full gala uniform, and deposited the whole of the Spanish fleet, his
person, and the universe in general at my feet, and said, "That no stone
should be left unturned to make our stay in Havana illustrious in
history."

What could the most admirable of Polos have written to have created such
an effect? Then came the General Lliano, a very handsome man, but who I
thought was rather stingy, as he only put the Spanish Army at my
disposition, and himself (_cela va sans dire_).

Next came Señor Herreras, dressed all in white, with the most perfect
patent-leather boots, much too tight for him, and which must have caused
him agonies while he was offering to put himself (of course), his bank,
and all his worldly possessions in my hands.

I accepted all with a benign smile, and answered that I only had America
and my fur-lined coat and boa to offer in return.

We had so many instructions given to us as to what to do and what not to
do in this perfidious climate that we were quite bewildered.

Never to go out in the sun. Result--Malaria and sudden death.

Never put your feet on the bare floors. Result--Centipedes.

Never drink the water. Result--Yellow fever.

Never eat fruit at night. Result--Typhoid fever.

If you sleep too much; if you sit in the draught; if you let the moon
shine on you. Result--Lockjaw and speedy annihilation.

These admonitions were very confusing, and we lay awake at night thinking
how we could manage to live under these circumstances.

What a delight to look at the view from our balcony! I never imagined
anything so beautiful: the distant hills are so blue, the water so
sparkling, the sun gilds the hundreds of sails in the harbor. At night the
water is brilliant with phosphorescence, and when the boats glide through
it they throw out a thousand colors; even the reflection of the stars is
multicolored. And then, pervading all, the delicious fragrance of fruit
and flowers and tropicality!

When I am not poetical, as above, I notice the oxcarts with their cruel
drivers yelling at their poor beasts and goading them with iron-pointed
sticks. When they were not striking them, they struck picturesque
attitudes themselves, leaning on their carts and smoking endless
cigarettes. The cabmen are also picturesque in their way. After their
return from a "course," tired out from whipping their forlorn horses into
the sideling trot which is all they are equal to, and after flicking their
ears until they are too lazy to continue, they hang their hats and
stockingless feet over the carriage lamps and chew sugar-cane, looking the
picture of contentment.

Cabs are cheap; twenty-five cents will take you anywhere _à la course_.
But if you go from one shop to another, or linger at a visit, fancy knows
no bounds, for there is no tariff and the coachman's imagination is apt to
be vivid; and as you can't trust anything else, you must trust to your
conversational power to get you out of the scrape.

_Volantes_ are capricious and too exotic a vehicle to trifle with;
moreover, they turn corners with difficulty, and corners in Havana are the
things you meet the most of.

The streets are narrow; so that if you wish to avoid adventures you must
be careful to give your coachman the correct address before starting off.
The porter of the hotel did this for us to-day, as our Spanish has not
reached _perfection_ yet.

All the streets are labeled _subida_, which means, "go up this street," or
_bajado_, "down this street." If, by chance, you want to go to _27 subida_
and you amble on to 29, it takes you hours to go _bajado_ and get back to
_subida_ again, going round in a _cercle vicieux_. We spent a whole
broiling afternoon buying two spools of thread, my parasol being mightier
than my tongue, as the poor coachman's back can vouch for. When everything
else failed we shouted in unison, "Hotel San Carlos," and the black
coachman grinned with delight. Seeing _bajado_ so often at different
points, Laura thought it was the sign of an assurance company; when I saw
it on the same house as Maria Jesus Street I thought it was some kind of
charitable institution.

A _volante_, as I have said, is a unique and delightful vehicle, which one
requires to know to appreciate. There are two huge wheels behind and none
in front; the animal, secured between the shafts, supports the weight of
the carriage. The seat is very low, so that you recline, more than sit;
your feet are unpleasantly near the horse's tail; a small seat can be
pulled out between you and your companion if there is a child in the
party. A dusky postilion decked out in high top-boots, with enormous
spurs of real silver, sits astride the horse between the shafts, and a
huge sombrero covers his woolly head.

The harness, spurs, buckles, and a good deal of the carriage trimmings are
silver; the horse's tail is braided once a week and tied to the saddle. No
frisky frightening off the flies from his perspiring and appetizing body!
Sometimes (in fact, usually) there is an extra horse outside of the
traces, so that labor is thus divided. The _volante_ drags the people; the
horse in the shafts drags the _volante_, and the extra horse drags
everything; the coachman does the spurring, whipping, and shouting, and
the inmates do the lolling.

I forgot to say that my friend, Lola Maddon, whom I used to know in Paris,
is here, married to Marquis San Carlos, who was a fascinating widower with
several children, whom Lola, like the dear creature she is, had taken
under her youthful wing. She rushed to see me the moment she heard that I
had come, and has already begun to "turn the stones" which are to be
turned for me to make my "visit illustrious" here. She has invited us to
the opera to-morrow, and gives a _soirée_ for me on the following evening.
I confess I am rather curious to see a _soirée_ in Havana. I hope they
have ice-chests to sit on and cool conversation. I shall not talk
politics; in the first place I can't, and in the second place because
it is heating to the blood.

Lola says her husband is a rabid Spaniard. "A rabid Spaniard!" Could
anything be more alarming? No; I will not be the innocent means to bring
about discussions, and precipitate a conflict between the Cubans and the
Spaniards! I have pinned upon the bed-curtains, next to the precautions
for preserving health and the washing-list, the words, "Never talk
politics, nor be led into listening to them," I can always, if pushed into
a corner, assume an air of profundity and say, "Is the crisis--" and then
stop and look for a word. The politician, if he is anything of a
politician, will finish the phrase for me, with the conviction that I know
all about it but am diplomatic.

To see the cows in Havana is enough to break your heart. I weep over them
in a sort of milky way. I have always seen cows in comfortable stables,
with nice, clean straw under their feet and pails full of succulent food
placed within easy reach, while at certain intervals a tidy, tender-
hearted young milkmaid appears with a three-legged stool and a roomy pail,
and extracts what the cow chooses to give her. But here the wiry creatures
roam from door to door, and drop a pint or so at each call. It is pitiful
to see the poor, degraded things, with their offspring following behind.
The latter are graciously allowed to accompany them; but no calls on
Nature are permitted, the poor little things are even muzzled!

Whenever I wish to go into the public parlor, where there is a piano, I
meet the Countess C----, who has evidently just been singing to her son
and her husband.

The first day I met her I approached her with the intention to talk music;
but she swept by with a look which withered me up to an autumn leaf and
left the room, followed by her music, son, and husband; but afterward,
when she saw the Captain of the Port in full gala offering me "_Cuba et
ses dépendences_," she changed her manner, and _then it was my turn!_ When
she asked me if I also knew Count Ceballos, the Governor General, I
answered, with a sweet smile, "Of course I do." "And many other people
here?" she asked, "All I think that are worth knowing," I replied, getting
up and leaving the room as abruptly as she had done. It was great fun,
though L---- thought I was rude.

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 volée_ of the town; the open balconies were
sacred to the middle-class, while in the upper gallery were the nobodies,
with their children, poor things! decked out with flowers and trying to
keep awake through the very tiresome and _démodé_ 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
_assoluta_, 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 partition. 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 volée_ 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
_soirée_. All the company was assembled when we arrived: the Marquis,
the Dean of Havana, and two abbés 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 _décolletées_, 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 grâce!_"--his little joke. She sang, "Robert, toi que
j'aime. Grâce! Grâce!" etc. Also she sang the waltz of "Pardon de
Ploërmel," 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 Abbé
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 _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.

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