The assembly was thoroughly representative of Cuban rustic life, and, though occupying different grades of social rank, mingled freely and unreservedly in conversation and in the dance. Ellie soon discovered that a formal introduction was not considered necessary to assure her every attention from the beaux, but she was able to decline the solicitation of numerous aspirants on the score of ignorance of the danza. I imagine Don Pedro’s exceedingly pretty daughters were the crême de la crême, but there were others, in low russet-leather shoes and plain listado dresses (a striped linen worn by the poorer classes), with escorts resplendent in cotton-velvet jackets and gorgeous chains and pins, who were the most willowy and graceful dancers. All the danzas peculiar to Cuba are slow and gliding, the quintessence of voluptuous ease and grace. The music is pianissimo, well accentuated, and the animated throng keep exquisite time, and are untiring. The violins were replaced by a banduria—a small guitar of native construction—and the ball concluded with a pas-de-deux: a couple in listado and cotton-velvet appeared in a typical Cuban dance, “El Zapateado”—a most graceful, courtly, and symmetrical measure, that perfectly illustrated the betwitching poetry of motion.
It was almost morning when we stepped into our own rooms again, fresh from our first and only experience at a guajiro ball. For days we talked about it, recalling the many unique and amusing incidents of the occasion, none of which impressed us more fully than the thoughtful courtesy and perfect decorum that prevailed during the entire evening. Not a loud or noisy voice was heard; not the slightest indication of undue exhilaration from the frequent visits to the roast pig and red wine, nor a single occurrence to remind us that we were witnessing the festivities of an abused and down-trodden peasantry who had no opportunity or hope of rising above the humble station that had been their lot for generations.
Don José Brito lived on the mountain. The lines of his plantation joined ours; and my husband always thought him the best manager in the partido, from his careful supervision of many important matters not appertaining to the one absorbing industry of sugar-making. He had a rope-walk, and manufactured from the aloe all the cordage and rope used on his place; besides, he had better pasturage, and therefore finer stock, than any one else.
Don José was genial and sociable, and the gentlemen of the two families exchanged occasional visits. He was a representative of rural Cuban grandeur, rare even then, and now entirely passed away. His favorite steed was a large, milk-white Andalusian mule, with shaved tail terminating in a little tuft of hair tied with a bright ribbon, and cropped mane; the equipment was an elaborate russet-leather Spanish saddle with cantle almost as high as the back of a chair, and huge holsters on each side of the pommel, from which gold-mounted pistols projected. A broad crupper extended from the saddle to the switch-like tail, and a band of variegated leather and fringe hung in a graceful festoon across the breast of the animal from side to side. All this leather-work was richly embossed, stitched in brilliant colors, and glittering with silver mountings, wherever a place could be found for them. A superb Toledo blade, full thirty-two inches long (the regulation length of a Toledo), in an ornamented scabbard, completed the equestrian outfit of this gorgeous gentleman. Don José was stout and swarthy, with a most gracious and winning manner, and a pleasant smile, revealing magnificent teeth. His small brown hands sparkled with numerous jeweled rings, and two heavy gold chains crossed his breast, both attached to watches which nestled in the pockets of his spotless white vest. A more friendly, accommodating neighbor we could not have found in any land. With all this love of display, he was thoroughly practical; and long experience with the small details of plantation-work, that are generally so irksome to the average Cuban planter as to be avoided altogether, made Don José’s advice and counsel valuable, and he was so obliging that we often feared we were imposing on his good-nature. Although there were other neighbors more accessible, Don José Brito’s horse (the Andalusian mule was for festive occasions) was the first one seen approaching when the peals of our bell announced fire or other danger at Desengaño. La Señora, his wife, was so obese that she was afraid to descend the steep mountain-road in her volante, so was unable—as her genial husband told us again and again—to extend to us the courtesy of a visit; but she was very neighborly in her feelings, frequently sending us little bowls of delicious dulces of her own make, and kept Ellie abundantly supplied with cascarilla, a powder made of egg-shells, for the complexion, and universally used by the Cuban ladies, to whose olive faces it imparts a chalky, ghastly tint.
We became greatly attached to Don José’s nephew, the “little doctor,” as we called him. He was such a diminutive specimen of manhood, that the embroidered shirt-bosoms and dainty, perfumed handkerchiefs he exhibited seemed quite appropriate; not so the massive watch-chains and charms, which were better fitted to a man twice his size. Don Tomas was such a genial, whole-souled gentleman, and was so cultivated and refined, that we were always glad to see him enter and deposit his formidable pistols and sword-belt on the parlor-table; it was the signal of a bright, entertaining visit. Ellie and I often wondered why we never met him at any of the social gatherings; and he rarely called on us, unless sent for professionally. As he had never married, and always seemed confused and uncomfortable when bantered on the subject of being a bachelor, I found myself weaving romances in which he figured as the disappointed lover.
One day Don José, arrayed in all his elegance, paused on his way home from the paradero (railroad-station) to tell us that Don Tomas would return on the morrow, and then to us was revealed the kindly little doctor’s heart-story. When a young student, in Matanzas, he became enamored of a pretty señorita, who reciprocated his love, and they were to be married after he had graduated in his profession; but a dashing Spanish officer appeared upon the scene as a rival, and the young girl was forced by her parents to accept what appeared to them the most advantageous offer. After a short honeymoon, the officer announced that he had received an unexpected summons to Spain, and proposed that his wife remain with her mother during his temporary absence.
Intelligence reached them, after his departure, that he already had a family in his native country! In Cuba, both by civil and ecclesiastical law, she was still a wife, and such she must remain so long as the deceiver lived. As it is not comme il faut for a married woman to participate in society unattended by her husband, her life became one of entire seclusion. The heart-broken young doctor withdrew to the country, and lived on a plantation with his uncle, in the utmost retirement, refusing all social pleasures, and devoting himself exclusively to his profession. “Now,” added Don José, with a radiant smile, “after seventeen years of waiting, news has arrived from Spain of the death of that officer, and Don Tomas has gone to Matanzas to marry the only woman he ever loved.” In due time we called upon the new señora, and were presented to a faded, shy little body, with a daughter taller than herself. She was not particularly attractive, and her manner was somewhat constrained, as would naturally be the case with one who had lived years under anomalous and grievous repression; but she was all the world to the faithful little doctor.
One of our neighbors was a marquis. He was in the habit of visiting his plantation once a year, and then he entertained in a most lavish and hospitable manner. My husband had made his acquaintance in Havana, and shortly after we arrived at Desengaño he called to welcome us, in a superb volante with prancing white horses, whose harnesses glittered with elaborate silver ornaments. The calisero and outriders in livery, wearing (in lieu of the conventional knee-boots of other lands) low black slippers with enormous silver buckles, and glittering spurs of the same metal. No one else in all that partido moved about in such royal state, for no one else could display such a gorgeous crest as that proud hidalgo of Spain. On one occasion, when his house was filled with city guests, he came in person to invite us to what he called in his quaint English a “peek-a-neek.” We were promised a déjeûner à la fourchette in a grove, to be followed by the ascent of a mountain, from whose summit a view of unrivaled extent could be obtained. Ellie and I were charmed to accept a gracious invitation that promised such an attractive episode in our monotonous lives. When we arrived at the rendezvous, which was the marquis’s lawn, other guests were already assembled in volantes and on horseback. A brilliant cavalcade we presented on the route to the grove, which was located on the side of a dashing stream of clear water. Here an arbor covered with fresh palm-branches had been improvised to shelter us from the sun’s rays. And in this shade the banquet was spread, a right royal feast of wild Guinea-fowls garnished with olives, quails served with raisins, roast ribs of fresh pork, and bananas cooked in a variety of tempting and delicate ways; salads, garlic, and unlimited fruit dulces, any quantity of Spanish wines, and stronger Cuban drinks made of cane-juice and bitter-orange peel—all sumptuously served, and partaken of with a relish that invariably attends an out-door feast. Nothing was omitted by our titled host that could add to the perfection of the occasion. What a happy time Ellie and I had! We did not understand all that was said, everyone talked with so much volubility and gesture, and often we detected a perplexed look in bright and kindly faces when one of us ventured a remark that from defective idiom or pronunciation blundered into incoherence. No matter if the courtly marquis himself failed in his attempt to read “Hamlet” to Ellie from an English edition of Shake-es-pere, and she did not understand a word. It was all delightful, and gave us ample theme for thought and conversation for many a quiet hour. The marquis, who spoke English “as she is spoke,” acquired his pronunciation from an Ollendorf or something worse; but, confident of his fluency in the language, of which theoretically he was a master, he was by no means timid, though often making most ludicrous mistakes. Notwithstanding we were in a foreign land, and floundering through the embarrassment of making ourselves intelligible in a language we had not learned even from books, we were, at times almost forced to turn aside and smile at his absurd mistakes.
His native Castilian, which was pure and free from the idioms that abound in many Spanish-speaking countries, we could perfectly well understand. A thorough education and extended travel, as befits a wealthy nobleman of proud Spain, had greatly improved a naturally good intellect; and, being a gentleman of elegant leisure, he was able to devote much time to the translation of English and French classics into his native tongue. I am informed that his published translation of Shakespeare’s dramas, notably “Hamlet,” evinced marked ability.
After the feast came the walk up the mountain; and, to provide for occasional refreshment as we paused to admire the distant landscape, we were followed by a pack-horse, with hampers of green cocoanuts, and juicy, ripe pineapples; the first universally used in its immature state, when a dexterous stroke of a knife makes an aperture into a sphere of limpid water, clear and sparkling, possessing a slightly sweet and slightly saline taste, mingled to perfection and wonderfully cool and refreshing. The pineapple, easily stripped of its rough coat, is rich and succulent, with an indescribably luscious flavor. In Cuba a single ripe one fills a whole house with its incomparable fragrance.