Half an hour brought me to my destination, No.--, Rua San Francisco. This house in its structure resembles the generality of the better class of houses in the island, the sleeping-rooms being sacrificed to the magnificence of the reception-rooms, the vastness of which appears to mock the ordinary wants of daily life. The walls are pure white, lined with prints, paintings, and mirrors; the floors are either covered with oil-cloth or highly polished; and the windows are shaded by lace curtains and Venetian blinds; the furniture is modern, and of English manufacture. I have been thus minute because the interiors of all the superior dwellings have the same general character. I cannot, however, say the same with regard to the tastes and habits of the occupants. The British prince-merchant, with his spirit, his intelligence, and his philanthropy, gives his days to the busy cares of life, and his evenings to the quiet enjoyments of home; while the Madeiran gentleman passes his days in luxurious indolence, and his evenings in crowded rooms. The ladies present an equally strong contrast, and yet, during one short period in each day, their tastes and purposes seem to assimilate: when the brief and beautiful twilight, with its freshness, its odors, and its music, induces even the exclusive English-women to appear in the shaded balcony, and find amusement in the passing scenes.
At this hour the peasantry may be seen returning to their homes in little parties of four or five, each group being accompanied by a musician playing on the national instrument, the machêtes, or guitarette, and singing some plaintive air in which, occasionally, all join. No sooner has one group passed, than the sweet, soft intonations of other songsters are heard [{266}] approaching. Sometimes two or even more parties will enter the street at the same time, when they at once take up alternate parts, and that with such perfect taste and harmony that when the notes begin to die away in the distance the listener's car is aching with attention. These songs are usually of their own composition, and are improvised for the occasion. They have but few national ballads, and of these the subjects are either the mischief-loving Malochio, or Macham and the unhappy Lady Anna, or the fable of Madeira's having been cast up by the sea covered with magnificent forests of cedar, which afterward, catching fire from a sun-beam, burned for seven years, and then from the heated soil produced the luxuriant vegetation with which it is now clothed.
It must not be supposed, however, that the peasantry are of a melancholy disposition because it is their custom to make choice of plaintive music to time their footsteps when returning at the close of a golden day to their homes by the sea or on the rugged mountain heights. On the contrary, the character of their minds combines all the variety of the scenes amongst which they were nurtured, though the leading trait is a desire for the gay and fanciful, whether in dress or amusement; While they regard neither money nor time in comparison with the gratification of witnessing the numerous ceremonies and pageants which every other day fill the streets with richly-dad trains of ecclesiastics, flashing cavalcades, and troops of youths and maidens in festive wreaths and gay attire. The season of Lent affords them almost daily opportunities for the indulgence of this taste.
At an early hour of the Monday morning in the first week in Lent the ordinary stillness of the town is interrupted by loud and clamorous sounds, such as sometimes assail the ear in a European town, at midnight, when bands of revellers are reeling toward their homes. Laughter, song, instrumental music, and the unsteady tramp of a crowd meet the startled ear, suggesting the idea of the proximity of a disorderly multitude. Opening the window cautiously you look down into the street, and behold bands of men in masks and habited in every variety of strange and ridiculous costume. Some few, however, display both taste and wealth in the choice of their disguises, but the generality of the crowd in their tawdry attire and hideous masks appear to have studied only effectual concealment. For some hours party after party continue to pass through the street, and as they knock loudly at the doors, and even call on the inhabitants by name, you discover that a feeling of impatience to have the shops opened and the ordinary routine of business commenced is common to all, and, if not gratified, may manifest itself in some open act of aggression. Slowly and with evident reluctance the houses are opened, while the curious and amused faces of children and servants may be seen peeping from the trellised balconies down on the noisy crowd. After a time a few men in ordinary costume begin to appear in the street, trying to look unconscious and unsuspicious of any danger, and hurrying forward with the important pre-occupied air of men of business. But neither their courage nor cunning avails them anything. A shower of stale eggs breaking on the stalwart shoulders of one merchant reminds him that the more grave and English-like is his demeanor, the more is he regarded as the proper subject for mirth; while a plate of flour thrown over another would send a dusty miller instead of a dandy flying into some open door for shelter, followed by the derisive laughter of the insolent crowd.
Amazed at such an exhibition of unchecked violence, the stranger inquires the meaning of the scene, and learns that it is merely the customary way of celebrating in Funchal the day known as Shrove Tuesday, the people having from time immemorial [{267}] enjoyed an established license to indulge on that day in such rude practical jokes as are warranted by the usages of all carnival seasons.
I may here observe that the Madeirans reckon their days from noon to noon, instead of from midnight to midnight, though their impatience for frolic and mischief frequently leads them, as on the present occasion, into the error of beginning the day some hours too soon. When, however, celebrating religious festivals, or on days set apart for fasting and invoking of their patron saints--Nossa Senhora do Monte and Sant Jago Minor--they carefully adhere to the established rule.
As the day advances the crowd becomes bolder, and no one, no matter what his age, rank, or nation, is suffered to pass unmolested. These coarse carnival jests are continued not only through the day but through the night, and until noon the next day, when the firing of cannon from the fort announces the cessation of the privilege of outraging society with impunity. Although, however, practical joking is prohibited from that moment until the next anniversary of the same day, masquerading is allowed from Shrove Tuesday till the week after Easter, the English being the chief, if not the only, objects for raillery and ridicule.
In general the most amicable feelings exist between the Madeirans and all foreigners, yet the lower classes of the natives appear to derive the utmost satisfaction in being openly permitted to caricature the English, and under favor of their privileged disguise to display John's eccentricities and weaknesses in the most ludicrous light, while the jealousy of the authorities prohibits on his part the most distant approach to retaliation.
As the last echo of the warning gun died away amongst the hills, the sun's position in the heavens indicated the hour of noon, and instantly the musical peals of numerous bells came floating to the ear from every direction, while above their sweet harmonious sounds is heard the booming of cannon from the vessels anchored in the roads, and the loud blasts of trumpets from the fort and the barracks. A stranger might be excused for supposing that the people were about to renew the carnival, whereas they were only announcing, in conformity with ecclesiastical law, the commencement of the season of Lent. This was the first day, or Ash Wednesday, though by our manner of computing time it was still the noon of Tuesday. At one o'clock the roar of artillery from the Loo Rock and the shipping was silent, the martial strains ceased, but the bells at short intervals continued to ring out their melodious summons, which was responded to by hundreds of persons in ordinary costume, all moving in the direction of the sé, or cathedral, in the Praca Constitutionel. Mingling with this decorous portion of the crowd were many of the most grotesquely attired masques of the previous day, whose antics and buffoonery, jests and laughter, formed the oddest contrast to the costume and bearing of the others.
Meanwhile, by one of those sudden changes so common in tropical climates, the sky, which a short time before was so blue and serene, began to show signs of a gathering storm. There was an ominous stillness in the atmosphere, the dull leaden color overhead was shedding its gloom everywhere, and I heard voices from the crowd exclaiming, "Hasten forward there, the rain is coming--hasten!" A few big drops just then fell with a plashing sound, and in a second or two afterward down, with a terrific noise, poured the fierce wild rain, coming on the streets with the noise of a waterfall, while on the house-tops it fell with a sharp rattle, as if every drop was a paving-stone.