The Pearl of the Antilles, or An Artist in Cuba

Whenever I question my loquacious friend about anybody in whom I may feel interested, he positively overwhelms me with the most minute particulars respecting his or her antecedents.

For example: Fulana de Tal is a visitor at Don Benigno's, and for some mysterious reason Doña Mercedes has, on more than one occasion, offered her pecuniary assistance.

'Do you know that lady?' I inquire, as Fulana de Tal seats herself beside Doña Mercedes.

'Fulana de Tal!' exclaims Tunicú with a contemptuous chuckle; 'I should rather think I do! Fulana de Tal, widow of the late Timothy de Tallo y Gallo, the large importer of soap and composites, in Candela Street number sixty-eight, corner of Vela Lane, opposite Snúfa's the ironmonger. Old Timothy de Tallo failed for forty thousand dollars four years and ten months ago; ran away from his creditors and embarked for France, where he died fourteen months after his arrival in Paris. His widow, related to my uncle Benigno, was left destitute with three children – two boys, and one girl named Fefita. But nobody starves in my country! Fefita is engaged to Nicolás, son of Nicolás Neira, director of the St. Michael copper mines. They say young Nicolás will have thirty thousand dollars if he marries, and when his governor dies will be a millionaire. Old Nicolás is awfully lucky – won a hundred thousand dollars in the Havana lottery upon one occasion, and twenty thousand on another. He has three coffee plantations and two sugar estates. One of them is worked by no less than four hundred and fifty slaves. Car-amba! you should see the procession of mules that arrives in town every day from the Camino del Cobre: each beast laden with sacks weighing nearly two hundredweight. When Fefita marries, her mother will be well off again; meanwhile Don Benigno supports her, though nobody is supposed to know it.'

'Who is that charming girl with the neat little figure and the dark frizzled hair?' I inquire, as the object of my admiration, accompanied by an elderly lady, passes close to where I am standing.

'Oh! that is Cachita,' says Tunicú; 'Cachita Perales, with her mother Doña Belen – amiable but weak old lady; very much directed by her husband Don Severiano, who is an old brute – plenty of "paja" (tin) though, but close-fisted.'

'I fancy I have met the younger lady at the theatre, and at other places of amusement,' I observe.

'Very likely,' says Tunicú. 'Cachita is fond of amusement. You see, she has no lover yet to fall back upon, as it were. Lots of admirers, though; but the old man wants to wed her to young Amador, son of old Catasus, the rich planter; and the sensible young lady dislikes Amador because he is a Spaniard, and a coxcomb into the bargain.'

'Are you very intimate with the Perales?' I ask.

'Intimate!' repeats my friend with a scornful smirk. 'Well, I look in at their tertulia at least twice a week. But you seem interested in the family – sweet upon the señorita, eh! Admire your taste – acknowledged beauty, you know.'

'Can you introduce me to the young lady and her mama?' I ask.

Can he? of course he can! He has been waiting till now to do so.

I am accordingly presented to the ladies as 'El Caballero Inglés, Don Gualterio, bosom companion of Don Nicasio Rodriguez y Boldú,' whom everybody has heard of. Then all four stroll round the promenade; Tunicú artfully engaging the old lady, and leaving me to do the amiable with the pretty creole.

As we walk and converse, the military band continues to play operatic selections, zarzuela medleys, pots-pourris of favourite airs and Cuban dances. At ten o'clock precisely the music ceases, and the band removes to the governor's house which faces the square. At a given signal, a quick march is played, and before the music is half over, the instrumentalists depart in procession through the streets leading to their barracks.

We now take leave of our lady friends, who intimate their intention of being present at the Philharmonic rooms, where a grand ball has been advertised for to-night. Many of the invited remain in the Plaza till the opening of this ball, which is announced by a band of negro minstrels who come to escort the dancers to the scene of festivities. During the promenade, partners have been already engaged, and as Tunicú is a member of the Philharmonic, and has offered to procure me an admission, I engage myself to the charming Cachita for the first three dances.

Tunicú and I occupy the interval which precedes the opening of the ball in various ways. The terrace of the cathedral, which overlooks the square, is thronged with coloured people, who, not being allowed to join in the promenade below, watch their white brethren from a distance. There is, however, among this assembly, a sprinkling of whites, some of whom are in a state of mourning, and consider it indecorous to show themselves in public; while others, like Tunicú and myself, visit the occupants of the terrace to exchange greetings with some of the dark divinities there. Tunicú is a great admirer of whitey-brown beauty, especially that which birth and the faintest coffee-colour alone distinguish from the pure and undefiled. He is also an advocate of equality of races, and like many other liberal Cubans, sighs for the day when slavery shall be abolished. Some of the brown ladies whom he addresses belong to respectable families of wealth and importance in the town; and were it not for certain rules which society prescribes, Tunicú says they would contract the whitest of alliances.

Descending the broad flight of steps of the cathedral, Tunicú invites me to partake of some refreshment at a neighbouring café. The round marble tables of the café are crowded with fashionables fresh from the Retreta. Some of Tunicú's companions are sipping and smoking at one of these tables. The moment we appear, his friends rise, salute us elaborately, and offer us places at their festive board.

What will we take in the way of refreshment?

This requires reflection, and meanwhile we gather a suggestion or two from the libations already before us. There are sugar and water panales, cream-ices, cold fruit drinks, bottles of English ale, and 'sangria' or rum punch, to choose from.

'When you are in doubt, order café noir and a petit verre,' is Tunicú's maxim, which we both adopt on this occasion. Cups of coffee and cognac are accordingly brought, cigarettes are handed round, and the convivialities of the café proceed. The company at the Retreta is discussed, and the brown beauties of the cathedral terrace are descanted upon. One of our party, whom everybody addresses by his nickname of 'Bimba,' is more loquacious than the rest, not excepting the garrulous Tunicú.

Bimba is a popular character in Cuba, and in some respects represents a type of the Creole 'pollo,' or man-about-town. He is short of stature, lean and bony. He has a long thin face, with a very sun-burnt complexion, a prominent proboscis, and his hair, eyes and eyebrows are remarkably black and lustrous. The pollo's weakness is over-confidence in himself and in the ways of the world. To him everything appears bright and sunny. Nothing in his estimation seems impossible of realisation. If you are in a difficulty, Bimba is the man to help you through, or at least to offer to do so! Bimba takes especial care to let everybody know that he is a 'travelled man' and a linguist; which literally translated means, that he has spent a few weeks in Havana and a few months in New York; in which places he has acquired a smattering of two or three different languages.

Learning that I am an Englishman, Bimba improves the occasion to air all the Anglo-Saxon in his vocabulary for the edification of his friends, who marvel much at Bimba's fluency in a foreign tongue. But whether it is that my residence among Spanish-speaking people has demoralised my native lingo, or whether it is that Bimba's English has grown rusty – it is evident that at least three-fourths of his rapidly spoken words are as incomprehensible to me as they are to the rest of our party.

Bimba's knowledge is not however, confined to languages and to mundane matters. As a 'man of business' no one can surpass him; though it is never clear to anybody what kind of occupation he follows. He is, besides, conversant with most of the arts and sciences. As for painting – well; he says that he has 'dabbled' in the art for years; and though he confesses he has not practised it of late, he knows well enough what materials are used for the construction of a picture. In proof of this knowledge, he offers to introduce me to a number of highly 'picturesque' models, and mentions a locality which, he declares, abounds with subjects worthy of an artist's attention. This locality is called La Calle del Gallo, and is a street which, I am afterwards told, is inhabited by certain coloured ladies of doubtful repute.

Being the hour of departure for the Philharmonic ball, the conversation ceases and the important operation of paying for what has been consumed must be undertaken. When a party of Cubans meet at a public refreshment-room, settling the bill is a serious matter. Everybody aspires to the privilege, and everybody presents his coin to the waiter.

'Here, garçon! Take for all,' says one of the company, offering a golden doubloon to the attendant.

'Excuse me, I spoke first,' observes another, exhibiting a gold coin of about the size of a five-shilling piece.

'No, no; it was I,' protests a third; while others, with fingers in fobs, wink and shake their heads at the bewildered waiter as if to imply that one of them will settle with the 'mozo' in secret.

The mozo will not, however, accept payment from anybody.

'Está pago ya' (it is already paid for), he observes, and walks away.

The company are amazed. Who could have been guilty of the treacherous act? and how and when was it performed?

Presently one of the party rises and feigns impatience for his departure. He smiles, and all declare that he was the culprit. Subsequently, this individual leads the waiter into a dark corner of the café, where accounts are squared; by which we know that before the refreshments were ordered he had arranged with the garden about payment.

'Nada, chicos!' observes the successful payee, as we quit the café, 'otra dia tocará á ustedes.' (Never mind, my boys! it will be your turn another day.)

CHAPTER XVI.

AT A CUBAN BALL

The Philharmonic and its Members – A Street Audience – The Guests – Engaging Partners – 'La Carabina' – 'La Danza Criolla' – Dance Music – Refreshments – A Pretty Partner – A Night with Cuban Gamblers – Spanish Cards – An Old Hand – 'Temblores!'

The saloons of the Philharmonic are well suited for dancing as well as for other purposes. The spacious apartments are entered by enormous doors, and those which are set apart for the use of the dancers are separated one from the other by narrow slips of wall. The heat, generated by the gas, finds an easy egress through the open doors and unglazed windows, and by these means the ventilation within is only surpassed by the open air. A balcony – resembling part of a ship's upper-deck – occupies the entire breadth of the building, and it affords an excellent promenade and lounge in the intervals of dancing. The street is crowded with a mixed audience, composed of coloured people and of whites in mourning, for whose accommodation chairs of all kinds are brought from their houses in the neighbourhood. The interior of the Philharmonic is perfectly visible to these spectators of the pavement, who, consequently, watch the proceedings within, as they would watch an entertainment at the theatre.

The ladies of the ball are attired in simple muslin dresses of the grenadine, the tarlatan, or the tulle kind; but no rule is observed with regard to the cut or shape of their costume. She whom nature has endowed with a comely figure, adopts the 'decolado,' or low-necked, short-sleeved fashion, while her less favoured sisters prefer to conceal their charms behind spotted lace or tulle. In short, the frequenters of such a ball as that to which I refer are licensed to dress as becomingly as they please, and only on rare occasions, such as a ball at the theatre, at the governor's house, or at the mansion of some equally distinguished person, are the strict rules of French etiquette observed.

The señoritas and their escorts are received in an ante-chamber by nine of the oldest members of the society, who conduct the ladies to the dressing-room of the establishment, where a few mulatto girls are in attendance. Their toilettes being complete, it is considered 'the correct thing' for one of these nine deputies of the Philharmonic to offer to escort the lady dancers to the 'salon de bal;' and afterwards to conduct the non-dancers to a locality set apart for the 'old people,' for people in a state of mourning, and for those ladies whose lovers do not approve of their dancing.

The male dancers – the majority of whom are pale-faced gentlemen with black mustachios, imperials, and cropped hair – appear in ordinary walking costume, consisting of black frock coats, black or white vests, and white trousers, and neither they nor their fair partners include gloves in their toilettes. Fans are used irrespective of sex, as a creole gentleman considers that such commodities are as indispensable to him as they are to his lady.

As most of the guests have already secured partners at the Retreta and elsewhere, and as at all respectable gatherings in Cuba everybody is supposed to know everybody else, the irksome formalities of introduction are altogether dispensed with.

'Me hará usted el obsequio de cederme ésta danza?' is in Spanish the politest form for asking a lady 'if you may have the pleasure of dancing with her.' But should you be on intimate terms with her, you may inform yourself whether she is willing to 'take a little turn with you,' by making the inquiry: —

'Quiere usted que demos una vueltecita?'

If the lady is 'sorry to say that she is engaged,' her answer will be, 'Lo siento; estoy comprometida.' If, on the contrary, she 'will have much pleasure,' she replies, 'Con mucho gusto.'

It is not unusual for a gentleman who is not dancing to borrow another gentleman's partner for a 'carabina,' or round or two; for which purpose the aspirant for that privilege has only to approach the dancing couple, and in his politest tone say – addressing his remarks indirectly to both: —

'Will the señorita be good enough to consent, with you, to my taking a turn with her?' or, as it is better expressed in Spanish, 'La señorita será bastante amable para que con usted consiente el darme una carabina?'

Sometimes when the aspirant is very intimate with the couple, he observes simply: 'Chico; una carabina?' (A turn, old fellow?) and without waiting for a reply, seizes his friend's partner round the waist and waltzes her away.

Occasionally the carabina is taken without asking; but this is done only by certain pollos who are vain enough to believe that they confer an honour upon the ladies of their preference by confining their evening's gyrations to carabinas. These attentions, however, sometimes involve the pollo in a quarrel with the lady's partner, as happened once with a certain Acha – a Spanish officer from Guantánamo – who fought a duel for the sake of a carabina which he had danced illicitly with a famous creole beauty called La Nena.

It frequently happens that the much-desired carabina is graciously conceded to an unfortunate pollito, or very young gentleman, who has been unable to secure a partner. Tunicú often avails himself of a pollito when he happens to be afflicted with an uncongenial partner, or one whose manner of dancing does not satisfy him!

The famous 'danza criolla' is the favourite dance of the evening: indeed, with the exception of a vagrant polka and a mazurka or two, this dance occupies the entire programme.

The danza criolla requires great practice before it can be successfully accomplished; but no amount of private tuition will help the novice to acquire the approved step. The best school for the study and pursuit of the art is a mulatto ball, or such a ball as the Philharmonic society gives on every Palm Sunday at seven in the morning. There is a very mixed attendance at the last-mentioned ball, as the members usually invite their 'guariminicas,' or companions of the carnival. A Cuban pollo has generally three ladies to whom he is devoted. The first of these is represented by the señorita whom he is destined to marry one of these days, but with whom he may not be seen alone. The second lady of his choice is the afore-mentioned 'guariminica querida,' who accompanies him about town when any fiesta is held; and the third is the mulatto beauty, whom he serenades and presents with various gifts in token of his admiration for her charms.

The step of la danza is distantly related to a slow valse; but being accompanied by certain graceful movements of the limbs – vulgarly termed, in creole vernacular, 'la sopimpa' – the excitement is far greater than it is with the fastest 'trois temps' on record. So great indeed, that after every other 'round' the couples pause and perform a kind of lady's-chain in quadrille groups of six or eight. Each dancer gives his or her favourite version of this remarkable step. Some appear to glide around as if propelled on wheels; while others define the step by hops, backward skips and short turns, now to the right, now the left; but all preserve the same graceful movements of the body.

The pleasures of the dance are greatly enhanced by the quality of the music, which is more or less inspiriting according to the air selected. Among the best Cuban dance music are the Cocuyé, the Chupadera, the Calabazon, the Sopimpa, the Mulata, the Pollita Americana, Merenguito, Lunarcitos, Al Mediodia, and 'á las Bellas Cubanas.' The clarionet takes the lead in the band of black musicians, and the güiro and tambours serve to mark the peculiar chopping compass which is the leading feature of the creole dance. The güiro proper is an instrument made from the hard fruit whence it derives its name. The güiro of society is, however, manufactured out of tin, and shaped like a broad tube rounded at one end to a fine point To one side is attached a handle; the other side is furnished with notches or transverse ridges, which being rapidly scraped by a piece of thick wire, a hollow, grating sound is produced. The monotony of this sound is varied on the tambours, and neither of those instruments is used when the dancers pause for the lady's-chain.

It is not unusual for an enthusiastic dancer to present the leader of the band with a piece of money, as an inducement for the latter to prolong the dance, and as a graceful tribute to his partner's dancing. But this proceeding not being always approved of by the rest of the dancers, a master of the ceremonies – called 'el bastonero' – is sometimes appointed for the purpose of regulating the duration of the dances; but as el bastonero is himself a dancer, he takes care to time the dances according to his own requirements.

At an ordinary Philharmonic ball, such as that which I am describing, the frequenters of the 'ambigú,' or refreshment room, must pay for what they consume. This is a serious consideration with the pollo, for he is expected to invite not only his partner, but also his partner's parents, brothers, or chaperones, and sometimes a friend or two of the family! The ambigú refreshment stall provides chiefly hams, lobsters, turkeys, chickens, fried fish, escabeche (another variety of fish), tongue, and other substantial viands; all of which are done full justice to by the señorita's relatives and friends! The appetite of the young lady herself is, however, more easily satisfied. A cup of thick chocolate with 'panatela' or pound cake, and an 'helado,' or ice is all that she requires in the way of refreshment; unless, later in the evening, she prefer a 'jigote,' which is a kind of thick soup made from boiled chicken, minced fine, and flavoured with herbs.

Adjoining the ambigú is a small apartment, where gentlemen – and some of the older ladies too – may enjoy a smoke while they sip their café and cognac.

Of course Tunicú has a variety of partners, but Bimba being partial to billiards, divides his time between the ballroom and the billiard-table.

Cachita – with whom I dance more than three times in the course of the evening – makes a delightful partner, and when, after sundry experiments, we are agreed upon the matter of step, I feel in the seventh heaven!

Cachita's manners and conversation are as agreeable as her dancing is, and combine to impress me with the fancy that our acquaintance dates from a more remote period than the present evening. Upon the strength of my being an artist, she examines me on the subject of Cuban beauty, and my replies are not unfavourable to Cachita and her countrywomen. In turn, I interrogate her on the popular impression of foreigners, and from her responses I gather that the people of nearly every country, except Spain, hold a distinguished place in a Cuban's esteem. The palm is, however, given to the Americans and English. Cachita has been early taught to regard these nations with favour, and that to possess the political and social advantages which English and Americans enjoy, is the ambition of every right-minded Cuban.

But politics is dangerous ground to tread, especially when you are discussing them with a beautiful young lady, who expresses so much enthusiasm for your 'patria,' and who, moreover, tells you to your face that your countrymen are 'simpáticos.' There is no telling what conversation such topics might lead to, if Cachita's mamma, Doña Belen, did not interrupt our tête-à-tête by coming to inform her daughter that the ball is nearly over, and that it is time to depart.

No ball at the Philharmonic is said to have terminated until the members of the society and their male friends have indulged in a little gambling. So when the ladies and their escorts have departed, and the gas in the ball rooms has been extinguished, old as well as young pollos betake themselves to an apartment, where they pass the small hours of the night in card-playing.

Curious to learn the mysteries of Cuban gambling, I accept Tunicú's invitation to watch the proceedings, one night after such a ball as that which I have described.

The chamber into which I am conducted is illumined in one part only, where a group of gentlemen are seated or standing around a square table. Having decided whether the game of the evening shall be 'monté,' 'tresillo,' or 'burro,' the dealer proceeds to shuffle the cards, which he does in an elaborate manner, and afterwards grasps the pack firmly in his left hand, taking care to conceal the bottom card. The dealer has a partner who is seated on the opposite side of the table with a pile of golden 'onzas' before him. These onzas, which represent the 'bank,' look like medals about to be awarded as prizes for merit, for each coin is of the size of a five-shilling piece, and is equal in value to seventeen dollars, or three pounds eight shillings sterling.

Carefully extracting four cards from the top and bottom of the pack, and after placing them, faces upwards, on the table, the dealer invites the company to stake their money. Gold in onzas, half-onzas, four-dollar pieces, and 'escudos,' or two dollars, is produced; but he who is indisposed to risk more than a fractional part of his money at one time, expresses his desire by concealing a portion of his coin beneath the card of his selection. Thus an onza placed half-way under a card signifies that the owner wishes to stake only half that coin, or eight dollars and fifty cents. Similarly a fourth of the money being exhibited, represents four dollars and twenty-five cents.

'Al juego, caballeros!' cries the dealer, and everybody accordingly stakes his money. Satisfied that the four cards are not equalised, the dealer, by a dexterous turn of the wrist, reverses the pack, by which means the bottom card is exposed. If this card does not pair with one of those on the table, other cards are slowly revealed, till one of the four on the table has been 'casado' or paired. The nine of spades being drawn, pairs with the nine of clubs on the table. The banker consequently pays on this card, and receives on that which lies by its side. The other two cards are similarly disposed of, and this, with a few variations, constitutes the game.

With the exception of 'el rey' (the king) and 'la zota' (the knave), a Spanish pack of cards differs considerably from the French or English pack. There are no tens, to begin with, consequently the total number of cards is forty-eight. The queen is also absent. Her majesty is, however, represented by 'el caballo,' a figure of a knight on horseback. Clubs (called 'bastos') are veritable clubs of the Hercules pattern; and a spade is not a spade in this instance, but it is an 'espada,' or sword of the approved shape. Each player has a favourite card, upon which he invariably stakes his money whenever it is turned up in the course of the game. Tunicú's 'winning' colour is 'el caballo' (horse and rider). Bimba swears by the king, while his neighbour, Don Vicente, has a partiality for the royal fives of every suit. These gentlemen are fond of apostrophising the cards of their selection, as if to encourage the pasteboard to win. Thus, Tunicú not unfrequently addresses his caballo as a 'noble animal' or a 'trusty steed,' while Bimba speaks of 'el rey' as a 'right royal gentleman' and a 'just sovereign.' But when, as it too often happens, 'el caballo' proves faithless, and 'el rey' unprofitable, their praises are no longer sung, but certain disrespectful adjectives are applied to them. The Spanish language is rich in oaths, the mildest of which are some of those expressions which begin with the syllable 'Car,' such, for example, as 'Caramba!' 'Carambóla!' (the billiard cannon), 'Caracóles!' (shells), and 'Caracolito!' (a small shell).