Chapter 6 No.6

Havana and the Havanese.[12]

NOTWITHSTANDING the mosquito nuisance and indifferent drainage, the traveller's first impression of Havana is distinctly agreeable, and the pleasing illusion is never completely destroyed. The harbour is wonderfully picturesque. Opposite the entrance stands the Morro Castle, built by Philip II. of Spain in 1573. It was formerly almost a facsimile of that curious little castellated Moorish fortress which faces the beautiful Monastery and Church of Belem, at Lisbon, but has been considerably altered of late years in the process of adaptation to uses of modern warfare. Then comes in view the other historical fortress, La Punta, also erected by our Queen Mary's sinister consort. To the left are two rather sharp promontories, crested by several fine churches, one "Los Angeles," fully two hundred years old-an age in the New World corresponding to hoar antiquity in the Old. Beyond these, upon a number of low-lying hills, rises the city, an irregular mass of one-storied dwellings, painted a vivid ochre, and interspersed with church domes and towers, with here and there tall, lank cocoa palms, or a tuff of banana leaves waving over some garden wall. Vessels from every part of the world, feluccas, with their swallow-shaped sails, some dazzling white, others a deep-red brown, fill up the foreground-whilst canoe-like market boats, laden with tropical fruits, fish, vegetables, and flowers, and rowed by negroes naked to the waist, scud in all directions over the deep-blue waters.

Arriving, as I did, from New York, which I had left deep in snow, this summer scene was most exhilarating, and the exceeding transparency of the Cuban atmosphere added considerably to its beauty. Everything seemed unusual, novel, and, above all, utterly unlike what I expected. The impress of the mother-country, Spain, is felt and seen everywhere, and modern American influences are barely perceptible as yet. From the sea, Havana might be Malaga or Cadiz, but when you land, memories of Pompeii immediately crowd upon you. What we should call the city proper, the commercial quarter of the Cuban capital, consists of a labyrinth of narrow lanes, traversed by one or two broadish streets, the two principal of which are known all over Southern America and the West Indies as Calle O'Reilly and Calle O'Bisbo, and run from the Governor's Palace right out to the walls of the city. Few of the houses which line these lanes and alleys are more than one storey high, but that one storey is so exceedingly lofty that it would make three in an average London dwelling. The lower half of every house is painted either a deep darkish blue, a deep Egyptian red, or a vivid yellow ochre; the upper part is always a dazzling white. As in Pompeii, you notice rows of stucco columns, painted half one colour half another. Peeping through the ever-open doorways you may, as you pass along, obtain something more than a mere casual glimpse of the interior of the dwellings. If you are early enough, you may behold the family at its toilet, for there is very little privacy anywhere in Cuba, every act, from entry into life to its final exit, from baptism to burial, being serenely performed in the utmost publicity. The lower windows, overlooking the street, are protected by heavy iron bars, and behind these you may, in certain quarters of the town, see lively groups of Havanese Geishas, their faces thickly powdered with rice flour, their long black hair plaited, and their opulent charms displayed to liberal advantage-"sono donne che fano all'amore!"

The frequent curious overhanging windows, with their iron bars, would give the place a prison-like appearance, were they not painted in the most brilliant colours-orange, scarlet, and pea-green. More frequently than not, the fragrance of the family dinner falls pleasantly on your olfactory nerve, and you may even catch a glimpse of the cook, a negress, invariably presiding over the charcoal stove in the kitchen, turban on head, a long calico skirt streaming behind her, and in her mouth the inevitable cigarette, without which no Cuban coloured lady can be happy.

There is no West End, so to speak, in Havana, the mansions of the wealthy being scattered through every part of the city. Some of the better sort of houses are exceedingly handsome, but they are all built on one plan, in the classical style, with an inner courtyard, surrounded by handsome marble or stucco columns. I imagine them to be designed much on the same plan as the villas of ancient Rome. You first look into a fine hall-generally either built of white marble or else stuccoed to look like it. Here the family Victoria or old-fashioned Volante is usually stowed away. Here also stands, rather for ornament than use, a sedan-chair, which is, more often than not, richly painted and gilded. Beyond this hall is the Pateo, in the centre of which there is usually a garden rich in tropical vegetation, shading either a fountain or a large gilded aviary full of brilliant parrots and parrakeets. In some houses there is a picture or statue of the Virgin, or some Saint, with a lamp burning before it day and night. In the Pateo, the family assembles of an evening, the ladies in full dress; and as it is generally brilliantly illuminated, the pleasant domestic scene adds greatly to the gay appearance of the streets, which fill with loungers in the cool of the evening.

The Havanese shops are plentifully supplied with European and native goods, but, as in almost all tropical countries, very few of them have windows, and the wares are exposed in the open, as in an Eastern bazaar. Only a few years ago the jewellers' and goldsmiths' shops were renowned throughout the Western world, but now, unfortunately, they are entirely ruined. Even in 1878, when the shoe first began to pinch in Cuba, many fine jewels, and some beautiful specimens of old Spanish silver, Louis XV. fans, snuff-boxes, and bric-à-brac of all kinds, were offered for sale. Often a negress would come to the hotel bearing a coffer full of things for inspection; the mistress who sent the good woman must have had implicit trust in her servant, for she frequently sold her wares for very considerable sums. Few of the Havanese magnates and rich planters have anything worth selling left them nowadays, but only a few years ago Havana was a happy hunting-ground for bargain seekers.

The handsomest street in Havana is the Cerro, a long thoroughfare running up a hill at the back of the town, bordered on either side by enormous old villas, in the midst of magnificent gardens. The finest of these mansions belongs to the very old Hernandez family, and is built of white marble in the usual classical style. The adjacent villa, Santoveneo, has a lovely garden, and used to be famous for its collection of orchids, the late Countess de Santoveneo, a very wealthy lady, being a great collector. She was a clever, agreeable woman, well known in Paris, where she usually spent the summer and autumn. In the midst of a perfect forest of cocoa palms stands the former summer villa of the Bishops of Havana, now a private residence.

Then, one after the other, follow the handsome dwellings of the Havanese aristocracy-of the Marquese dos Hermanos, of the Duque de Fernandina, of the Conde Penalver, of the Marqueza d'Aldama, etc. The cacti in these villa gardens are of amazing size and shape, some showing leaves thick and strong enough to bear the weight of a full-grown man. In the gardens of the Conde de Penalver there is a glorious mangoe grass, the first I ever saw, and the finest. Unfortunately, these Havana Edens are infested all the year round by swarms of mosquitos. The residents seem skin-proof, and do not appear to suffer from the insects' attacks. But woe waits on the unwary new-comer who tempts fate by lingering in these lovely gardens!

There are several delightful public promenades in the city and its suburbs, the Paseo de Isabel for instance, with its wide pavement and its stately central avenue of flowering trees. Here stands an exceedingly imposing monument, the Fontana de India, which would put our all too notorious "shaving-brushes" in Trafalgar Square to shame. On the summit of a snow-white marble pedestal is a fine statue of the Antilles, represented by an Indian maiden airily attired in robes of nihil, and adorned with beads and a head-dress of plumes. Cornucopias full of tropical fruits and flowers rest at her feet, and four monstrous dolphins cast down volumes of foaming water into a spacious marble basin. Forming a background to this remarkable work of art are the public gardens of La Glorietta, with their oleander groves and towering palm trees. In the great pond the Victoria Regia floats its colossal silver cups. Hard by is the Campo de Marte, or Mars' field, where the soldiers drill, and beyond which stands the splendid palace of the Aldama family, in the midst of a glorious tropical garden.

The Calzada de la Reina is another wide street, running from the Campo de Marte, to the Calzada Belancion and the Paseo de Tacon. This is the fashionable shopping street, and, as a rule, crowded with carriages in the early morning hours, when the Cuban ladies make their purchases. No Havanese lady ever condescends to leave her victoria to enter a shop-the shopman invariably brings out his wares for her inspection, and the bargaining takes place in the open street, and is often very animated and amusing.

The Paseo de Tacon is, however, by far the finest promenade in the city, and quite worthy of any capital in the world. A very broad drive passes between a double row of splendid acacias of the "peacock" variety-so called on account of their huge tufts of crimson and yellow flowers. The Paseo dates back to 1802, and is adorned by several handsome statues and memorial columns. Of an evening it blazes with electric light, and, moreover, boasts an interminable switchback railway, a great source of amusement to the young fry of Havana. At the extreme end of Tacon, which, by the way, is sometimes as animated with carriages and pedestrians as the Champs Elyseés, are the Botanical Gardens, which are surprisingly fine. Imagine all the conservatories of Kew and the Crystal Palace without their glass roofs, and you may then form a vague notion of the glories of these gardens. There is an avenue of cocoa palms here which is of almost unearthly beauty. I remember seeing these Gardens illuminated for a fiesta with myriads of coloured lights, and surpassing in fairylike beauty any transformation scene ever devised at dear old Drury. The stems of the palm trees, "all set in a stately row," seemed converted into pillars of gold, and, far above, a good hundred feet and more, scintillated clusters of tiny lamps, like jewels among their waving fronds.

Of an early winter morning-a winter morning in Cuba is like an ideal one in late May in our latitudes, Tacon Gardens are delightful, they are so well arranged and so full of interest. In the centre is the Quinta, or summer-house, which you reach by a very long verdant tunnel, formed of Pacific roses and the clustering yellow banksia. Here also I first made the acquaintance of the duck plant, or Aristolochia pelicana of which more anon, and of the divinely beautiful Cuban morning glory, convolvulus major-with its immense bunches of the deepest blue flowers. In the evening the moon-flower opens its colossal white disks, and the night-blooming cerus is also a perennial attraction to those who have never seen it burst into glory at a given hour, and shed around an almost too powerful odour of attar of roses.

Take Havana for all in all, in times of peace it is by far and away the pleasantest city in the Southern Hemisphere-the most resourceful, for it has capital public libraries, museums, clubs, and theatres. Of an evening it is quite charming. Then the streets are thronged with people until early morning. The bands play selections from the latest operas-even Wagnerian airs-the se?oras and se?oritas parade up and down with their attendant cabaleros, and mostly in evening, nay, full ball dress, with only a lace veil over their heads. A brilliant double line of equipages fills the central drive, and very smart many of them are-as well turned out as any in Hyde Park or the Bois. The cafés, and there are hundreds of them, are dazzling with electric and incandescent light, and packed by a motley crowd as picturesque as it is animated. Negresses, in gaudy cast-off finery, offer you dulce or sweetmeats, and coloured boys cry "limonata" and ice water. Everybody has a cigarette between their lips or their fingers. Banjos twang and mandolines tinkle in all directions, and if you chance to get a good seat at the Café Dominico, or the Louvre, where the world of fashion is wont to assemble to suck ice drinks through long straws, smoke cigarettes, and criticise their neighbours, you can pass many an amused hour, watching the passing show of this West Indian Vanity Fair.

If it please you to leave the gay throng to its devices, its cigarettes, and its scandal, to quit the flaring thoroughfares and betake yourself to the semi-deserted bye streets, you will find plenty to attract and amuse you. Here, for instance, is a street so narrow, you might shake hands across it. The mellow tropical moonlight falls only on the roofs of its tall one-storied houses, and on the tapering campanile of some church or convent, which it transforms for the time being into a column of burnished gold. A vivid glare across the street attracts your attention. It proceeds from a cavernous-looking tavern, whose otherwise gloomy interior is lighted up by strings of Chinese lanterns. A crowd of negroes, smoking cigars or cigarettes, stand in a confused group round a couple, consisting of a huge Congo black naked to the waist, and a lady of a few shades lighter hue, dancing the obscene Cubana, to the intense gratification of the dusky spectators. Down another still narrower street, across a little Plaza, and we find ourselves in a sort of covered gallery, where whole families of respectable citizens, gran'pa and gran'ma included, are supping al fresco-by the light of a number of curious brass lamps, such as the old Romans used. Not far off you catch a glimpse of the sea glistening in the moonlight, which turns the distant suburb of Regla, on the opposite side of the harbour, into rows of ivory dice, the square one-storied houses looking for all the world like those pernicious toys on a colossal scale. Resisting the pressing invitation of a party of gaudily dressed ladies seated in the huge cage-like window of a house hard by, we find ourselves, by a sudden turn, in the Cathedral Square. Although late, the great church is open and brilliantly illuminated, and within we can see the pious throng, kneeling before the high altar, chanting Ave Maria-

Ora pro nobis, nunc et in ora mortis nostris.

Commend to me a city of the Latin race for delightful contrasts, and I assure you Havana is no exception to the rule.

The picturesque volante, once as essentially Cuban as the gondola is Venetian, has entirely disappeared, at all events from the streets of the capital. It is, or perhaps I should say it was, a very singular-looking vehicle, with its wonderful spider-web-like wheels, its long shafts, and its horse or mule, upon whose back the driver should perch in a clumsily-made saddle. It had something of the litter on wheels, and was usually occupied of an afternoon on Sundays and holidays, by two or three ladies, magnificently dressed in full ball costume, and blazing with jewels, the fairest of the trio sitting on the knees of the other two. The volante was sometimes splendidly decorated with costly silver platings and rich stuffs. The negro driver wore a very smart dark blue and red cloth livery, covered with gold lace, high jack-boots coming almost up to his waist, and carried a long silver-mounted whip in his hand; victorias and landaus have usurped the place of these old-world coaches, excepting in the country, where they are often to be met with on the high roads.

For its size (the population is about 230,000) Havana is exceptionally well supplied with public and private carriages. You can hire an excellent victoria de plaza for 1 fr. 50 the hour, and a custom, which the London County Council might imitate and introduce with advantage, has long been in use in the Cuban capital. To avoid extortion from the cab-drivers, the lamp-posts are painted various colours, red for the central district, blue for the second circle, and green for the outer. Thus, in a trice, the fare becomes aware when he gets beyond the radius, and pays accordingly. Trouble with the Havanese hack coachman, usually a coloured man, and very civil, is of the rarest occurrence.

Although an eminently Catholic city, Havana cannot be said to be rich in churches. A goodly number have been destroyed during the various rebellions, especially those of the middle of the century (1835), when the religious orders were suppressed. The largest church is the Merced, a fine building in the rococo style, with handsome marble altars and some good pictures. It is crowded on Sundays and holidays by the fashionable world of the place, the young men forming up in rows outside the church as soon as Mass is over, to gaze at the se?oritas and their chaperons. The Cathedral is the chief architectural monument of interest in Havana. It was erected for the Jesuits in 1704 on the site of a much older church built in 1519, and dedicated to St Cristobal, the patron of the city. The first Bishop of Havana was an Englishman, a Franciscan named Fray José White. He occupied the See from 1522 to 1527. The old cathedral being considered too small, this church was converted into a cathedral in the present century. It is built in the usual Hispano-American style, with a big dome, and two stumpy towers on either side of the centre. Internally the effect is rather heavy, owing to the dark colour of the marbles which cover the walls, but compared with most churches in these latitudes, the edifice is in exceptionally good taste, with a remarkable absence of the tawdry images and wonderful collections of trumpery artificial flowers and glass shades which, as a rule, disfigure South American churches. The choir would be considered handsome even in Rome, and the stalls are beautifully carved in mahogany. Almost all the columns in the church are also mahogany, highly polished, producing the effect of a deep red marble, most striking when relieved, as in this case, by gilt bronze capitals. In the choir is the tomb of Columbus. The great navigator died, as most of my readers will doubtless be aware, at Valladolid, in Spain, on Ascension Day 1506, and his body was at first deposited, after the most pompous obsequies, in the church of San Francisco, in that city.

In 1513, the remains were conveyed to the Carthusian monastery of Las Cuevas, at Seville, where King Ferdinand erected a monument over them, bearing the simple but appropriate inscription:-

"A CASTILE Y LEON

NUEVO MUNDO DIO COLON."

Twenty-three years later, the body of Columbus, with that of his son Diego, was removed to the island of San Domingo, or Hayti, and interred in the principal church of the capital; but when that island was ceded to the French, the Spaniards claimed the ashes of the Discoverer, and they were carried to Havana and solemnly interred in the Cathedral on the 15th January 1796. The remains, which by this time, it seems, were scanty enough, were placed in a small urn, deposited in a niche in the left wall of the chancel, and sealed up with a marble slab, surmounted by an excellent bust of the bold explorer, wreathed with laurel. The inscription, a very poor one, excited considerable ridicule, and a pasquinade was circulated lamenting the absence of the nine Muses on the occasion of its composition.

Of late years, however, the inhabitants of San Domingo[13] have set up a protest in favour of certain bones which have been discovered in their own cathedral, and declare by their gods, or by their saints, that never a bone of Columbus left their island, and that the relics of the great Christopher in the Cathedral of Havana, unto which so many pilgrimages have been made, are as apocryphal as were those of certain saints mentioned by Erasmus.

As a matter of fact, so far as I can make out after the perusal of a number of pamphlets on the subject, only half the bones of Columbus were taken to Havana. The priests at San Domingo kept back a portion of the body and hid it in the south of the sacristy of their Cathedral, where it was discovered with many evidences of its authenticity in 1877.

Of the other numerous Havanese churches there is not much to be said, except that nearly all have remarkable ceilings, decorated in a sort of mosaic work in rare woods, often very artistic in design. Columns of mahogany are frequently seen, and nearly all the churches are lined with very old Spanish or Dutch tiles. The Church of Santa Clara, attached to a very large nunnery, is a favourite place of devotion with the fashionable ladies, who squat on a piece of carpet in front of the Madonna, with their negro attendant kneeling a few feet behind them. When the lady has performed her devotions, the sable footman takes up her carpet, and follows her out of the church, walking solemnly a few feet behind her. In the Church of the Merced there is a very curious picture representing a group of Indians being slaughtered by a number of Spaniards. In the centre is a wooden cross, upon the transverse portions of which Our Lady is seated, holding the infant Jesus in her arms. In the corner is a long inscription of some historical importance. It runs thus:-

"The Admiral, Don Christopher Columbus, and the Spanish Army, being possessed of the 'Cerro de la Vega,' a place in the Spanish island, erected on it a cross, on whose right arm, the 2nd of May, 1492, in the night there appeared with her most precious Son, the Virgin, Our Lady of Mercy. The Indians, who occupied the island, as soon as they saw Her, drew their arrows, and fired at Her, but as the arrows could not pierce the sacred wood, the Spaniards took courage, and, falling upon the said Indians, killed a great number of them. And the person who saw this wonderful prodigy was the V. R. F. Juan."

The Jesuits have an important college for boys in Havana. Annexed to it is the Observatory, said to be the best organised in South America. The church is handsome, and over the high altar hangs a famous holy family, by Ribeira. In connection with this college there is also a museum and library, especially rich in drawings and prints, illustrating Cuban life and scenery, from the sixteenth century down to our own times.

The wooden images of saints on the altars in the Havanese churches are most picturesque, and their costumes often very quaint. St Michael, for instance, may appear in white kid dancing shoes and a short velvet frock, and the Madonna is usually attired in the cumbersome Spanish court dress of the sixteenth century; with farthingale and ruff complete.

A remarkably fine old church is San Francisco, long since desecrated and converted into the custom-house. It has a noble tower, and stands in a conspicuous position down by the harbour. In the suppressed monastery is a vast room with a glorious cedar-wood ceiling. San Francisco is famous in the annals of Havana for a triple murder, which took place upon its altar in 1833, before the Church was converted to profane purposes, and was still one of the most popular shrines in the city. Hard by is an old-world café-the Leon de Oro-which in those days was tenanted by an Italian with a pretty wife. The worthy man got jealous of her, and, finding out that her paramour was the Secretary of the Captain-General, Don Alonzo Vales y Sandoval-watched his opportunity to avenge himself. It chanced that the noble Don was ordered to watch by the Sepulchre in this church on Holy Thursday evening. Dressed, therefore, in his scarlet robes, as a member of the Confraternity of the Sacred Blood, the unlucky gentleman was apparently absorbed in prayer before the altar, when the infuriated Italian dealt him a blow in the back with a stiletto, which killed him there and then. Before the horrified congregation could arrest him, he murdered his wife, who was kneeling in prayer close by her lover, and then stabbed himself-all of which uncanny tragedy I found solemnly related in choice Spanish in an old Havana journal, dated June 17, 1833.

The numerous charitable institutions in the capital, and throughout the island, are well managed, and generally clean. The Casa de Beneficencia, founded by the famous Las Casas, as an asylum for the extremes of life, the very young and very old, is especially interesting. It is managed by those admirable women, the Little Sisters of the Poor. Nothing can exceed the exquisite cleanliness of the Lazar House, situated at some distance from the city, in which six nuns and two priests have banished themselves from the world in order to tend the many hapless lepers on the island.

But admirably managed, roomy, and well endowed though they undoubtedly are, the charitable establishments of Havana do not supply the demand, for the place swarms with beggars, especially in these recent hard times. Never, no, not even in Spain or Italy, have I seen such terrible beggars as those of Cuba. They haunt you everywhere, gathering round the church doors, whining for alms, insulting you if you refuse them, and pestering you as you go home at night, never leaving you till you either bestow money on them, or escape within your own or some friendly door.

Kingsley described Havana as "the Western Abomination," so low was his opinion of the moral tone of its inhabitants. Whether his judgment was right or wrong, I dare not say, but I know enough to convince me that the average Havanese drawing-room can provide quite as much ill-natured gossip as any in London. Here, as elsewhere in Southern America, religion has become a mere affair of ceremony and outward observance, with little or no moral influence. I am assured that of late years there has been a considerable reaction, and that numerous missions have been preached by priests and friars, imported from Europe in the hope of exciting the zeal of the native clergy, which has very possibly been affected by the enervating influence of the climate. Be this as it may, the churches in Cuba are a never-failing source of interest, by reason of the quaint and everchanging scenes their interiors exhibit. In some of them the music is admirable in its way, although entirely of an operatic character. At the Merced there is a full orchestra, and the principal singers from the opera may often be heard at High Mass.

Church has always, in Latin countries, been the scene of a good deal of quiet flirtation, and I remember one Sunday morning, in the Cathedral of Havana, being initiated by a friend into the mysteries of fan language. We watched an extremely good-looking and richly apparelled young lady, who, after she had said her preliminary devotions, looked round her as if seeking somebody. Presently she opened her fan very wide, which, as the Cuban who was with us at the time assured us, meant "I see you." Then she half closed it; this indicated "Come and see me." Four fingers were next placed upon the upper half of the closed fan, signifying, "At half-past four." The fan was next dropped upon the floor, which, we were told, signified the fact that the lady would be alone. A Havanese lady, who is expert in this system of signalling, can talk by the hour with the help of her fan, and of a bunch of variously coloured flowers, each of which has some special meaning.

Amongst so pleasure-loving a people as the Cubans, public amusements hold a far more prominent place than they do in any of the United States, with, perhaps, the sole exception of New Orleans, and the carnival at Havana was at one time the most brilliant in the Americas. For many years, however, its glories have been declining, and during the last few decades the upper and middle classes 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 passes 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 space 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 classes. 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 amusement 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 class 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 cafés, 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 A?da (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 début 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 cock-pit are still national institutions throughout Cuba. Each city has its ring and its cock-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 assembly 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. Passing 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 cocks, although small, is remarkably well-proportioned and elegant. I am no expert in cock-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. Doré alone could have done justice to the scene, but, picturesque though it was, it was a degrading exhibition of cruelty and base passion. The upper classes, 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 cock-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 bloody, 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 assured 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."