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.