As we came out of the poor little church, a dirty negro boy, followed by a dozen others, ran by us in the street, making a great noise with a matraca, to the delight of his suite. This matraca is a piece of wood about eighteen inches long and ten wide; on each side of it are affixed one or two thick iron wires of the usual size and shape of those old-fashioned metal handles to drawers and trunks, which always used to slip out of their sockets when one gave a strong pull. When the instrument is shaken, these rattle against the wood, and in the hands of an adept, and all colored boys are such, made a terrible clatter. From the Gloria on Maundy-Thursday until the Gloria on Holy Saturday, matracas are employed instead of bells and clocks, and boys from the churches run through the streets with them, to announce each hour of the day.
The sepulchre at San Felipe, a church whose interior is remarkable for its air of bright cleanliness, was very tastefully arranged with flowers and tapers, and promised to look very brilliant when lighted up. There also was an image of our Saviour similar to that we had just seen.
At Santo Domingo, a large, handsome edifice, we found a magnificent sepulchre, in severer taste than the two we had visited. In one of the aisles, also, there was a group large as life, and painfully life-like. It represented our blessed Lord on the cross, the blood streaming from his nose and down his pale, thin cheeks from the wounds inflicted by the cruel thorns of his crown; a ghastly gash in his side; his hands tom by the dreadful nails; his wrists bruised and cut by the cords with which he had been bound; his knees so horribly scarified by being dragged over the rough ground that the bones of the joints were visible; his feet mangled, his whole body cut and scratched and discolored by stones and blows. At the foot of the cross stood the holy Virgin, tearless, but with so heart-broken an expression that to look at her was to weep. St. Mary Magdalen, her face pale, her eyes swollen and red, was kneeling near her. I could not bear the sight of this agony, and turned away, saying to myself, "Yes, it must have been like this!"
In each of these three churches a nun was sitting at a small table with a tray before her, to collect the charitable, voluntary offerings of visitors. This was the first time I had seen the slightest approach to money-asking in the Cuban churches. During the rest of the year there never are collections of any kind made in them. Nevertheless, the ladies of Havana are very ready to contribute, and do contribute liberally toward all religious and charitable purposes; but privately, not publicly. Indeed, both Spaniards and Cubans are remarkably compassionate and generous to the begging poor, whom they gently style Pordioseros—"For-God-sakers;" and whom they never send harshly away when unpleasantly importuned or unable to give, as we Anglo-Saxons so often do; but refuse with a soft Perdone, por Dios, hermano—"Pardon me, for God's sake, brother;" or, Perdone, por Dios, hermanita—"Pardon me, for God's sake, little sister."
It was now time to return to the cathedral to secure places to see the Lavatorio. We found but few persons there yet, and consequently had a choice of seats. Some colored men were busy placing an image of our Saviour, similar to that we had seen in the church of San Juan de Dios, on one of the altars in the southern aisle, and it was touching to see the veneration and love with which one or other of them would raise from time to time a ringlet of the shiny black hair and kiss it.
Just before three o'clock two long benches were set on the epistle side of the altar, and presently a large number of youths, attired in dark red robes, entered the chancel—students from the Seminario de San Carlos, the theological college attached to the cathedral.
The beautiful anthem that is chanted during the ceremony of the washing of feet, Mandatum novum do vobis, "A new command I give unto you," contains the distinctive precept of our pure and holy religion, "Love one another;" and I could not help thinking, when the Bishop of Havana girded himself with a linen napkin and knelt humbly to do his lowly task, that he looked as if it were to him a real labor of love, so charitable an expression was there in his eyes, such venerable grace in his manner. He was assisted by several priests, one of whom carried a large silver basin, another a silver ewer full of water. The water was poured over one foot only; the prelate knelt as he wiped it, and then kissing it, rose and passed to the foot of the next boy, and so on. When all were washed and wiped, the bishop, looking heated and tired, resumed the white and gold chasuble he had laid aside, and, crowned with his mitre, took his seat in front of the high altar, surrounded by his clergy.
The sermon then commenced; the subject was, as always on this day, the institution of the holy eucharist. The preacher was a rather young man, of agreeable aspect, earnest in gesture and manner. His voice was loud and clear, and the magnificent Spanish language resounded in harmonious and eloquent periods through the vaulted nave. I remembered, as I listened admiringly, the old Spanish boast that theirs is the tongue in which the Almighty can be least unworthily addressed, and it did not seem to me so vain and unmeaning as I once deemed it.
With the conclusion of the sermon, all the joy and love that had marked the first part of the services of Holy Thursday disappeared, and grief and mourning now began again. Vespers and the Tenebræ were chanted, and then the faithful withdrew.
In the evening all the inhabitants of Havana poured into the streets: the captain-general, attended by his staff; the bishop, followed by his clergy; the governor and the municipality; the various corporations; large family parties, and bands of young men and boys; all went from one illuminated church to another, seven being the prescribed number, to kneel before the splendid sepulchres, and pray with more or less devotion. And having accomplished this duty, all adjourned to the Plaza de Armas, a handsome square, on one side of which is the palace of the captain-general, for the retreta; that is, to promenade while they listened to the military band, which played some sacred music very finely, and to eat ices, the pious taking care that theirs were water-ices.