Chapter XII: Part 12

The Captain of the Port thinks his English is better than his French, but sometimes it is very funny. He says: "Don't take care," instead of "Never mind"--"The _volante_ is to the door"--"Look to me, I am all proudness"-- "You are all my anxiousness."

The houses are generally not more than one story high, built around an open court, on which all rooms open. In the middle of this is a fountain; no home is complete without a fountain, and no fountain is complete without its surroundings of palms, plants, and flowers. In one of the rooms you can see where the _volante_ reposes for the night. You only see these glories at night. When the heavy bolts are drawn back you and everybody can look in from the street on the family gathering, basking in rocking-chairs around the fountain, and in oriental, somnolent conversation.

CUBA, _February._

The annual _soirée_ of the Governor and his wife took place last night. The Captain of the Port came to fetch us. The palace is, like all other official buildings, magnificent on the outside, but simple and severe within. There was a fine staircase, and all the rooms were brilliantly lighted, but very scantily furnished, according to our ideas. We must have gone through at least six rooms before we reached the host and hostess. Every room was exactly alike: in each was a red strip of carpet, half a dozen rocking-chairs placed opposite one another, a cane- bottomed sofa, a table with nothing on it, and walls ditto. There are never any curtains, and nothing is upholstered. This is the typical Cuban salon.

There was an upright piano and a pianist at it when we entered, but the resonance was so overpowering that I could not hear what he was playing. Laura and I (after having been presented to a great many people) were invited to sit in the rocking-chairs. The gentlemen either stood out in the corridor or else behind the chair of a lady and fanned her. _Dulces_ and ices were passed round, and every one partook of them, delighted to have the opportunity to do something else than talk.

When the pianist had finished his Chopin a lady sang, accompanied by her son, who had brought a whole pile of music. She courageously attacked the _Cavatina_ of "Ernani." The son filled up the places in her vocalization which were weak by playing a dashing chord. She was a stout lady and very warm from her exertions, and the more she exerted herself the more frequently the vacancies occurred; and the son, perspiring at every pore, had difficulty to fill them up with the chords, which became louder and more dashing.

Countess Ceballos, with much hemming and hawing, begged me to sing. I felt all eyes fixed on me; but my eyes were riveted to the little, low piano- stool on which I should have to sit. It seemed miles below the piano-keys. "How could I play on it?" Evidently none but long-bodied performers had been before me, for when I asked for a cushion, in order to raise myself a little, nothing could be found but a very bulgy bed-pillow, which was brought, I think, from the mother country. There was a sort of Andalusian swagger about it.

The dream "that I dwelt in marble halls" was no longer a dream. Here I was singing in one. I sang "_Ma Mère était Bohémienne_," and another song which had an easy accompaniment. It took me a little moment to temper my voice to these shorn rooms.

The charge of musketry which followed was deafening, though only gentlemen clapped their hands; ladies don't rise to such exertion in Cuba. I sang "Beware!" as a parting salute. The Captain of the Port came up, flushed with pride, and said, in his best English, "I am all proudness!"

_Panelas_ (large pieces of frosted sugar, to be melted in water) and other sweets were passed about at intervals.

Shaking hands is a great institution here. No one wears gloves except at the opera, so that one's hands are in a perpetual state of fermentation, especially after one of these functions, when making acquaintances, expressing thanks, and everything else are done through the medium of the hands. One can literally say that one wrings one's hands.

We, as the distinguished guests, were led into the supper-room very ceremoniously, and put among the higher strata of society. The buffet was overflowing with Cuban delicacies and _dulces_. I reveled in the fruit and left the viands severely alone.

After supper we went into the ball-room, and saw for the first time the Cuban waltz, otherwise called _Habanera_, a curious dance something between a shuffle and a languid glide. The dancers hardly move from the same spot, or at most keep in a very small circle, probably on account of the heat and exertion; and then the dispersing of so much powder, with which every lady covers herself and gets rid of when she moves, has to be considered.

The music has a peculiar measure; I have never heard anything like it before. The instruments seemed mostly to be violins, flutes, clarinets, and a small drum. The bass is very rhythmical and deep, whereas the thin tones of the other instruments are on the very highest notes, which leaves a gap between the upper and lower tones, making such a peculiar effect that the music pursues and haunts you even in your dreams.

We bade our host and hostess good night and, followed by the Captain of the Port, who now was not only "all proudness," but full of "responsibilitiveness," left the palace. In passing the music-room I took a farewell look at the bulgy bed-pillow, which was still reposing on the music-stool.

CUBA, _February._

DEAR MAMA,--You have no idea of the heat here. I never felt anything so scorching as it was to-day. Let me tell you what happened.

General Lliano came in the morning to ask what Havana could show me. I answered that above all things I wanted to see Morro Castle. He replied that Morro Castle was mine, and that I had only to fix the time and he would take us there.

I did fix it, and fixed it at two o'clock, as a fit hour to visit the _Cabaña_. I noticed the look of blank despair on our friend's face, but, not knowing that all Cuba slept between the hours of two and five, I did not realize the piteousness of it. General Lliano begged the Captain of the Port, Señor Català, to accompany us, and both of these gentlemen came in full uniform, as well as their aides-de-camp.

The Captain's trim little boat was at the wharf near our hotel, and we were rowed over by the governmental crew to the opposite shore, and were met by the Governor of Morro Castle at the landing in the most sweltering heat. I had not forgotten to take the precaution, which anywhere else would have been appropriate, to carry extra wraps, as I told Laura that they were necessary for every water excursion. You may imagine the _de- trop_-ness of these articles when the thermometer was up at one hundred and twenty in the shade.

We were taken about conscientiously and shown all that there was to be seen: all the dungeon-cells and subterranean passages, and up the hill to see the view, which was very extended and very beautiful. From there we went to the Governor's house, where we were greeted by his wife and daughter, the wife stiff in black moiré (I mean the moiré was stiff, not she). He placed himself, his wife and daughter, and his mansion at my disposal. I would not have minded taking the old gentleman; but I absolutely refused the lady and the moiré dress.

_Dulces_ were served and some unappetizing-looking ices, which tasted better than they looked. Cakes also were offered us, of which I picked out those which had the least mauve and yellow coatings. When we were presented with some stiff little bouquets we thought it was a signal for departure, and bade adieu to the black moiré and the fast-melting ices.

From the _Cabaña_ we walked along the macadamized road to the Morro Castle, a long distance it seemed to me in the heat; but we left the hard and glaring road and walked over the grass, following the line of the subterranean passage, which made a sort of mound, and finally reached Morro Castle. Here there were more officials, more presentations and more ceremonies, and more _dulces_ and more bouquets.

The view from the ramparts, on which stood the lighthouse, was sublime: the blue sea underneath us, Havana on the left, and the purple mountains in the far distance.

One of the officials asked us whether we wanted to go to the top of the lighthouse. I declined, much to the relief of the assembled company. They say that fish have been thrown up by the spray over the lighthouse; but this seems almost as incredible as the majority of fishy stories. The castle is very high, the ramparts are higher, and the lighthouse crowns everything. The water dashes up through narrow crevices in the rocks, which gives it great force, and possibly might account for the fish story, but I doubt it.

By this time (six o'clock) we were utterly exhausted. Even at this hour the heat was intolerable. We had hoped for a little breeze on the water; but, alas! there was none. Poor Señor Herreras held his foot incased in tight patent-leather boots in his lap, moaning, "Comme je souffre!"

How they all must have blessed me for this idea of mine! I felt ashamed to look them in the face.

CUBA, _1873._

I could not tell you all the things we were taken to see. We visited the German and Spanish men-of-war As we were in the company of the Governor- General, the Commander, and the Captain-General, we were not spared the proper salutes. The tour of the war-ships had to be made, and in place of the eternal _dulces_ international refreshments were offered us. We departed in the Captain of the Port's steam-launch, and drove to the Carreo, where the pretty villas are.

The Governor-General drove us out to his _quinta_ in great style: English horses and carriage and an American coachman. The roads were pretty bad, and we were considerably jostled going through the _Paseo._ The coachman careered from side to side to avoid ruts and tracks, and the dust was overpowering. No conversation was possible, as our throats were filled with dust and our lives hanging on a thread. I waved my hand in the direction of anything I thought pretty, and silence followed.

At the _quinta_ all was ready and waiting for us. Fountains were playing, servants in red and yellow gorgeous liveries, with white stockings, were flitting about; various Cuban delicacies were offered to us, and we admired everything that was to be admired. The return drive was delightful, through the long avenues of stately palms and graceful date- trees.

The carnival is a great event and very amusing. I am not spoiled in the way of carnivals, only having seen that of Paris (the _Boeuf gras_) and the Battle of Flowers at Nice. The populace turn out in great force, every one is gay and happy, and the Cubans high and low join in the sport.

We were invited to drive in a four-in-hand. In this way we had a kind of bird's-eye view of the whole. No lady thinks herself too fine to join in the carnival. The procession, which defiles up and down the _Paseo_ during the fray, begins at four in the hot, broiling afternoon, and ladies, decked out as Diana, Minerva, or other celebrities, powdered _à l'outrance_, smiling and proud of their success, recline in their _volantes_. Their own servants, with false noses or otherwise disguised, have their fun, too. I never saw such an orderly crowd; no pushing, no quarreling, no drunkenness, and yet every one was enjoying himself. There were two rows of carriages, one going up, one going down, with a place in the middle for the four-in-hands and the _chars_, some of which were very ingenious. There was a steamship with sailors, who kept firing off the whistle every time they saw a skittish horse. On another car were men dressed as skeletons with death's-heads instead of masks, and Shylock- looking Jews riding with their backs to the horses' heads, holding on to their tails.

A Punch and Judy were acting on a little stage during the procession, surrounded by children of all sizes and ages decked out in costumes, their tinselly flowers showing off their thin and sallow faces. There was a tremendous tooting of horns, and, with the music in the square and the music on the _chars_, made a perfect Bedlam. People nudged one another as we hove in sight in our four-in-hand.

The G----s did not relish the carnival as much as we did, and thought it a dismal affair. They captured a victoria by force, the coachman refusing to take them until they said "Paseo" upon which he started off on a trot. He had a dilapidated old horse, who had to be beaten all the way there, and when there, what do you think the coachman did? Simply pulled out a false nose and put it on and lighted a cigarette, stuck his hat on the lamp, and jeered at all the other vehicles, being on jeering terms with all the other cabmen; and as the _Paseo_ is a mile long, it meant a mile of mortification. They came home disgusted and voted the carnival a "disgraceful affair."

MATANZAS, CUBA.

DEAR M.,--In my last letter I told you of our invitation to the _bal poudré_ and _masqué_ here. Count Ceballos, thinking it would amuse us to see it, arranged that we should stay at the palace, where the ball was to take place.

The Captain of the Port, with his aide-de-camp, accompanied us on our trip, and as he was going there in some official capacity, we shared his honors.

We had no adventures except that of traveling in company with a rather rough-looking set of men, who were on their way to a cock-fight. The cocks were tied up in bags; but as I wanted to see one the man opened the bag and took it out, and also showed me the spurs they strap on them when they fight.

We arrived in Matanzas about six o'clock, to find the Mayor's carriage waiting for us. We drove to the palace, and after dinner dressed for the ball. We did not attempt anything in the way of mask or costume, as being unknown and _unpowdered_ was a sufficient disguise.

The Captain of the Port knew every one there, and presented many of his friends. We went out and stood on the balcony, looking at the sea of upturned heads. It seemed as if every Matanzois who was not inside was outside gazing at the windows, and listening to the band which was playing in the square. The night was glorious with a full moon.

I think that I have described in a former letter the Cuban dance, the languid tropical shuffle they call the _Habanera_. The music is so monotonous, always the same over and over again, and only ceases when it is convenient to the musicians.

The ladies had _cascarilla_ (a powder made of eggshells) an inch thick on their faces. I doubt if the officers ever saw so much powder as they did at this _bal poudré_.

There was a sit-down supper, consisting of sandwiches smelling strong of bad butter, ham and chicken salads, _dulces_ of all sorts, but, alas! no fruit. The dancing continued long after we had retired for the night.

The Marquis Aldamar invited us to a _déjeuner_ for the following day; the _volantes_ were again "to the door," and we started off in grand style and great spirits and drove to the top of the mountain, from which we enjoyed a perfectly glorious view of the Yumiri Valley. The winding river looked like a silver thread as it wound in and out through the grassy meadows.

Our _déjeuner_ was of a more European character than any that we had yet had in Cuba; the menu was in French--evidently the cook was also French--and the servants looked imported. In fact, everything was in very good style. The hostess was charming and musical, she sang some very pretty Cuban songs, and after a while asked me if I were musical, and if I would play something.

The Captain, in an undertone and in all "proudness," said, "Ask Madame to sing." And she did so in a rather condescending manner.

I accepted and went timidly to the piano, and as I hesitated as to what I should sing, she said, "Oh! just sing any little thing." With an amused glance at Laura I sang Chopin's waltz, which is the most difficult thing I sing, and the astonishment depicted on the countenance of my patronizing hostess was highly diverting.

"I wonder if you are any relation of a Mrs. Moulton whom my cousin knew in Paris," she said. "He was very intimate with a family of your name, and often talked to me about a Mrs. Moulton who sang so beautifully."

"Can it be that I am the same person? I have lived in Paris. What was your cousin's name?" I inquired.

"Jules Alphonso."

"What!" I cried. "Jules Alphonso your cousin? I have not seen him for years. I used to know him so well. Where is he?"

"He lives here in Cuba," she answered.

"Where in Cuba?" I interrupted. "How extraordinary! How much I should like to see him again!"

"And he, I am sure, would like to see you, he has so often talked about you to me. I felt directly last night that I knew you; it must have been intuition."

I think, Mama, you must remember Jules. He was like a second son in our house, and was an intimate friend of my brother-in-law, and would have liked to have been a brother-in-law himself if he had been accepted. We all loved him. How strange to find him here! The last place in the world I should have dreamed of! I am not sure that I ever knew that he was a Cuban.

My new friend was wild with joy. "You are the one person that I have wanted to know all my life, and, fancy, here you are!"

Was it not a curious coincidence to meet _here_, in this out-of-the-way place, some one who knew all about me?

I repeated, "I must see Jules, and if he is anywhere near I shall certainly try to find him." "Let us go together," she said. "I will drive you there, and we will take him by surprise." Two _volantes_ were immediately before the door, and the Marquise Aldamar, the Captain of the Port, Laura, and I started for La Rosa, Jules's plantation. It was an enchanting drive, though a long one, leading, as it did, through avenues of royal palms, and it was quite six o'clock before we reached Jules's house. I said to the Marquise Aldamar, "As Jules has no idea that I am in this part of the world, let me go in alone and surprise him."

We drove up to the entrance of his pretty villa, and the others accompanied me to the door of the salon with a finger on their lips, so that the servant should not announce us. We saw Jules sitting at a table reading. I entered softly and went behind him, and laying my hand on his shoulder said, "Jules!"

He turned quickly about, and when he saw me he thought I was an apparition or a dream. "What! What!" he cried, trembling with astonishment.

"It is I--Lillie Moulton," I said, quietly.

"You! you! No, it can't be possible!" And he took hold of my hands as if to see if they were flesh and blood. "Where did you come from? How did you get here? What brought you here?" followed in quick succession. The others pushed aside the curtain and came in. Then followed explanations. I was obliged to answer thousands of questions, and go into thousands of details, concerning the family, Paris, the war, and so forth. He ordered champagne, improvised a little supper for us, and did not seem to be able to do enough to show his delight at seeing me. But the Captain of the Port soon reminded us that it was time to be on our way back to Matanzas, as it was a long drive, and I bade a tearful farewell to lonely Jules. Our comet-like visit must have seemed to him like a vision, and he watched us, with eyes full of tears, drive away out of his life. Poor Jules!

MATANZAS, CUBA.

We spent the following morning in driving about the city. At half-past two crossed the ferry to Yuanana-bocca, where we found the amiable director and the rest of the party. The cars, with their cane-bottomed seats, were cool. The scenery was exquisite. On both sides of the road were real jungles of tropical growth, with the purple mountains as a background. We passed many _ingenios_ (plantations), with their tall, smoking chimneys, all in full blast.

On reaching our destination we were met by _volantes_ and saddle-horses. The former were for the ladies, the latter for the gentlemen of the party, and we made our way through the narrow, dirty streets, passed the walls of the city, and came out on to the beautiful road, where a gang of chained prisoners were breaking stones.

We passed many villas and well-kept gardens, and arrived at the bottom of the hill, where we were obliged to get out and walk, for the roads became impassable. It was a stiff climb; but when we reached the summit we were rewarded by a most magnificent view. We descended and reached the _volantes,_ the drivers whipped up their horses, and away we went over rocks and ruts, but feeling nothing of them. That is the charm of a _volante;_ only the wheels, which are behind you, get the jerks and jolts.

After a half-hour's drive we reached the famous cave, Laura and I were supplied with garments looking like mackintoshes, and, provided with torches, we began to descend. We first came to a large, vaulted hall, where miles of stalactites in every form and shape twinkled in the light of the torches.

We had to crawl through a small opening to get into another vaulted room which boasted of an echo. The guide struck a note and I sang a cadenza, which resounded like a thousand voices.

There never could have been a thermometer made that could register such heat as we felt here; the air was frightfully oppressive and almost intolerable.

They pointed out the Pope's Miter, the Virgin's Veil, the Altar, the Boat --all looking about as much like their names as an apple looks like a pack of cards. After being shown the lake I begged for fresh air, and we mounted the steep wooden stairs. The hot air outside seemed like a wintry breeze when we came into it, and we were told that we must cool off before venturing into the hot sun. Then we _volanted_ back to Matanzas.

Our next visit was to the well-known _ingenio_ (sugar-plantation) belonging to the cousin of the Marquis San Carlos. The sugar-mill stood in front of the master's house, so that the master could watch from his broad balcony the bringing in of the sugar-cane, which was hauled by huge cart- loads drawn by oxen. The sugar-cane, on its arrival, was put between great crushing wheels before it was thrown into the vats. The sturdy negresses, up to their elbows, stirred the foaming syrup after it had boiled. Then it was skimmed and boiled again to purify it. It went through a centrifugal process to crystallize it, and afterward was packed in boxes and stamped in less time than it takes to relate this. I liked to breathe the hot vapors coming from the huge tanks. What remains of the sugar is used as fuel; so nothing is wasted.

All the slaves seemed gay and well-fed. The Chinese, I believe, are liked better than the natives, they are so clean and adroit. We visited the houses of the slaves and found them all well kept. The master threw silver pieces (ten cents) to the children, who seemed content in their bare nakedness and clamored for more pennies. We drank _querap_ (molasses) from the tanks mixed with whiskey. It was very good; but a little went very far. Two small children fanned us with palmettos during dinner. We passed the night there in the _ingenio_; but we saw no tarantulas, as was predicted. The next morning, when our coffee was brought, there was an assortment of delicious fruits--pineapples, guavas, bananas, cocoanuts, mangos, etc., which we enjoyed immensely. There was a little excitement before we started: the gardener, a bridegroom of eighty-five summers, was married to a blooming young person of eighty, both slaves and black as ink. We arrived at Havana that evening.

You can't tell how grieved I was to hear of the kind and good Emperor Napoleon's death. He was only sixty-five years old. I thought he was older. What an eventful life he had--tragical would be the right word. What did he not endure? When he was a child he was an exile, and since then, until he became first President and then Emperor, he was knocking about the world, sometimes hidden and sometimes pursued. However, he had fifteen years of glory, for there was not in all Europe a man more considered than he was, and he had until the last four years of his reign more prestige than any other sovereign. I think after the tragedy of Mexico his star began to pale.

The Emperor Napoleon was certainly the kindest-hearted and best- intentioned man in the world, so full of life, fun, and appreciation. I can see him now shaking with laughter when anything amused him, as was often the case at Compiègne.

The papers say that he had once been a policeman in London. I do not believe this is true, though the Emperor told me himself that he had lived very humbly at times; still, that is very different from being a policeman. I wonder if the Prince will try to get back the throne. He does not look as if he had a strong character, nor does he look as if he had the energy of the Emperor, which enabled him to go through so many hardships to gain his ends.

How sad it is! I am sure the Empress's only consolation is the thought that her son can recover the position the father lost.

We returned to Havana quite tired out with our little journey, and glad to rest in the quiet of our cool rooms, and I looked across the water, crowded with boats of every description, and gazed with delight at the distant mountains, with their clouds dragging themselves from one summit to the other.

How hot it is! I never thought that the sun, which is so high up, could pour down so; but it does pour down. I think it is hotter here than in Matanzas.

We shall be leaving here in a few days, and I suppose we shall find ice and snow in New York, and return to india-rubbers and umbrellas--things unknown here. During our absence some German men-of-war have arrived here, and stationed themselves right in front of our windows.

It must be their wash-day, for all the sailors' clothes are hanging out to dry.

Lola San Carlos is in light gray--the mourning one wears for a brother-in- law is not heavy in this warm country. She has invited us to a card-party for tomorrow; card-parties are evidently not gay enough to interfere with tears.

CUBA, _February._

DEAR MAMA,--Well, we are really going to return! As usual, I have no more clothes, and I certainly will not be bothered to have anything made here. My black tulle dress has become brown and gray in its efforts to keep up to the mark; and as for Laura's white lace, it has become gray and brown, so you see we must go home.

We went to Lola's card-party. There was the bereaved brother, looking very chirpy, and the Dean, and the Abbé. They kindly proposed to teach me their favorite game of _tresillo_. They took a lively interest in my ignorance. They told me the rules and the names of the extraordinary cards; for instance, hearts were represented by coins, for clubs there were clubs, while trees and swords served for diamonds and spades. Every card is something else than what you have called it before. The value of each is changed according to the trump. What you have considered always as a low card, such as the two of spades, suddenly becomes the best card in the pack.

All the cards have Spanish names--Spadilla, Manilla, Basta, Ponto, and Matadores--which sound very romantic. A simple seven of hearts becomes suddenly top card and is called Manilla, which is the second best when hearts are trumps, and then the two of clubs, which was miles high the last hand, is at the tail of all the other cards now. It is a dreadful game. I thought that I should have brain fever while learning it. They went on playing it for hours; there never seemed any end to it; they counted in the weirdest way, making ciphers and tit-tat-toes on the green baize table with chalk, and wiped out with a little brush. Every trick of the adversary was deducted, and all the heads met over the chalk-marks to find out mistakes.

CUBA.

DEAR M.,--A dance was given at the Captain-General's, where all the officers of the German and Spanish men of war were present. It was a very brilliant sight, and we made many delightful acquaintances. Commodore Werner of the German _Friedrich Wilhelm,_ Commodore Livonius of the _Elizabeth,_ besides many other charming officers, as well as many Spanish officers from the _Gerona._ The Germans danced with more energy than the Cubans are accustomed to, and they stared at the unusual vigor displayed, and accounted for it, saying it was because they were new- comers. In fact, the officers, in their trim uniforms, looked very hot and wilted at the end of the evening. Commodore Werner was a most gallant gentleman, and as we did not dance, he had the leisure to tell me all about his family, his literary tastes, and his admiration for pretty ladies; and he finished by asking if we would do him the honor to lunch on his ship the next day. A handsome young lieutenant (Tirpitz) came to ask me to dance, but Commodore Werner gave him what in other less tropical countries might be called a freezing look, remarking that no one ought to dance in such heat as this. The young lieutenant left us quite subdued; but the heat did not prevent his dancing with many ladies, if not with me.

The next day we went to lunch on the _Friedrich Wilhelm,_ and it was with delight that we sat on the awning-covered deck. The Commodore asked me to give him an idea for some occupation for the sailors, who had so much time on their hands, and, as I happened to know how to plait straw, I proposed showing them how to do it.

The Commodore sent a launch to Havana to get the straw, and we passed the afternoon dividing the time between listening to the music of the ship's band and tasting different beverages and eating German pretzels and teaching the sailors how to plait.

At five o'clock we were rowed ashore, and welcomed a little fresh breeze which had sprung up.

The following morning the inmates of the hotel were awakened at an early hour by the solemn hymn which belongs to a German serenade. The kind Commodore had sent his band to play for me, and it filled the whole hall.

The early breakfasters were dreadfully put out about it; the brass instruments sounded like a double orchestra, and resounded in these marble halls like volleys of musketry; and as for the hotel-keeper, he has not got over his surprise yet.

We had many pleasant days after this. Each one, we said, would be the last; still we stayed on. One of the German men-of-war gave a ball, the Spanish gave another; each vied with the other to give the finest entertainment. It was a pleasure to go on board the German boats, everything was so spick and span, the sailors so neat and trim, the deck so beautifully kept, and the brasses glistened red-hot in the sun.

I cannot tell you all we did these last days. I was glad to hear that the German sailors had profited by my lessons, and had in a short time plaited straw enough to make some hats for themselves. I shall always feel proud when I see a German sailor with a straw hat, for I shall feel that I laid the foundation of this industry.

One of the afternoons we spent on the Commodore's boat. I sang for the officers in the cabin, and then, when I was on deck, I sang some of the songs from "Pinafore" for the sailors, whom the Commodore called together to hear me. They grinned from ear to ear when I sang "What, never?" "Hardly ever," and "Never used a big, big D," in the captain's song in "Pinafore." This was the last time we visited our amiable German host.

I shall post this letter in New York. It will probably reach you before we do.

Our departure was a triumphal procession. The Captain of the Port, devoted to the last, took us in his official steam-launch to our steamer. Flowers, fruit, and souvenirs of all kinds filled our cabin to overflowing, and when we passed the German boats, hats and handkerchiefs were waved aloft, and the bands on the decks played with all their Teutonic might until we were out of hearing distance.

We noticed our tall, handsome lieutenant standing alone on the fore part of the deck. He made a fine naval salute, while the good Commodore waved his handkerchief frantically.

The Captain of the Port accompanied us down the harbor as far as Morro Castle in his steam-launch.

Adieu, dear Havana!

WASHINGTON, _April, 1873._

DEAR LAURA,--The weather was atrociously bad when we returned to New York, and as for Boston--it was simply impossible. I began coughing and sneezing as soon as I reached home. So I decided to go to Washington on a visit to Mrs. Robeson, wife of the Secretary of the Navy. She had often asked me; this was an excellent opportunity to accept.

Mrs. Robeson is a fine woman, built on ministerial, lines, and looks like a war-ship in review rig. They have an amusing house. Their Sunday evenings are the rendezvous of clever people; the men are particularly entertaining--Mr. Blaine, Mr. Bayard, and other shining lights.

She is musical, and sings with pleasure. She has a luscious mezzo-soprano. She sang "Robin Adair" on one of these occasions with so much conviction that it seemed as though she was routing Robin from his first sleep. Then she sang a French song in a childish voice (she thought it was a _backfisch_ song); but I think it was anything but that, for I noticed some Scandi-knavish glances between the Danish and Swedish Ministers, which made me suspicious.

There is a delightful German Minister (Mr. Schlözer) here, who is very musical; though he does not know a note of music, he can improvise for hours.

SOMMERBERG, _July, 1874._

DEAR MAMA,--My last letter was from Dinard, where I was nestling in the bosom of my family and enjoying the repose and the rest that family bosoms alone can give. I told you of my intention to visit Helen at her place on the Rhine, and here I am enjoying another kind of rest: the rest of my income.

Paul is at present Minister in Madrid; Helen and I lead a very quiet life. Driving to Wiesbaden to see the Nassaus and other friends is our favorite occupation. We linger in the shady walks of the park, look in at the gambling-rooms, sometimes we go to the races, and always come home tired. And then, how we enjoy the garden and the beautiful view over the Rhine! Some days we go out riding in the lovely forest, which leads to the most prettily situated little "bad" place in the world--Schlangenbad.

Helen has in her stables three horses, two of which are the "fat ponies" and the third is the war-horse that Paul used in the French-German campaign. We take the war horse in turn, as he has to be exercised. When it is my day I shudder at the thought of it. Riding is not my strong point; in fact, it is my weakest point, and I feel that I am not at all in my element; and when I see the tall beast being led up to the door, and I know that at a given moment I am to be fired up on to his back, my heart sinks. He has a gentle way with him which makes the process of getting on him extremely difficult. Just as my foot is in the groom's hand, and I say one--two--three, and am in midair, the horse moves gently to one side, and I either land on the hard pommel or, more often, I fill an empty space between the horse and the groom, which is awkward. However, when, after repeated efforts, I _do_ manage to hit the saddle on the right place I stick there.

He is full of fancies--this horse--and reminiscences, and sometimes gets the idea into his head that he hears the bugle-call to arms. Then off he goes to join his imaginary companions, and charges the trees or anything that occurs to him, and nothing on earth can stop him, certainly nothing on his back can. My hair comes down and my hat flies off, and I feel I am not doing the _haute école_ in proper style. Fortunately Helen and I are alone, and as the war-horse is miles in front of the "fat pony," she does not see the _école_ I am doing, and I rather enjoy the wild way we career over space. I do not attempt to guide his martial steps, but let him come into camp when he feels inclined.

The groom is never surprised if I come an hour too late. I fancy he knows what I have gone through: brambles, branches, and--agony.

SOMMERBERG, _July, 1874._

I have just returned from a delightful visit to the Prince and Princess Metternich. It was very hot the day I left here, and the sun poured down on the broad, white roads which lead from Sommerberg to the station. On my arrival at Johannisberg Prince Metternich was waiting for me with a _calèche à la Daumont_.

Our jaunty postilion blew his little horn incessantly as we galloped through the village and up the long, steep hill which leads to the château. The walls on both sides of the badly paved, narrow road were high and unpicturesque--not a tree to be seen; vineyards, vineyards everywhere --nothing but vineyards.

The château is a very ugly building, of no particular kind of architecture, looking more like a barn than a castle. It is shaped like an enormous E, without towers or ornamentation of any kind.

The Princess was at the door, and welcomed me most affectionately, and with her were the other guests: the handsome Duchess d'Ossuna, Count Zichy, Count Kevenhüller, Count Fitz-James, and Commandant Duperré. The immense hall, which occupies the entire center of the house, has five windows giving out on the courtyard and five on the terrace, and is comfortably furnished with all kinds of arm-chairs, rugs, and so forth. A grand piano stood in one corner near the window, and over this window was an awning (an original idea of the Princess, to put an awning inside, instead of outside of the window). An unusually large table, covered with quaint books, periodicals, and the latest novels, stood in the middle of the room, and there were plants, palms, and flowers everywhere.

The Princess showed me the different rooms. Her boudoir was hung with embroidered satin. One room I liked particularly; the walls were covered with the coarsest kind of écru linen, on which were sewed pink pigeons cut out of cretonne; even the ceiling had its pigeons flying away in the distance. Another room was entirely furnished in cashmere shawls--a present from the Shah himself. There must have been a great many, to have covered the walls and all the divans.

Nowhere could the Princess have had such a chance to show what she could do as here, in the transforming of this barrack into a livable place. I admired everything immensely. She told me that she thought she was very practical, because, when they leave here, all the hangings can be taken down and folded and put away, so that the next year they are just as good as new.

They only stay here two months every year (July and August); the enormous display of flowers on the long terrace before the château is also temporary. There are at least four to five hundred pots of flowers, mostly geraniums, which make a brilliant effect for the time being, as long as the family are here; then they go back to the greenhouse.

Tea was served in the hall; every one was in the gayest of spirits, and crowded around the piano to hear Prince Metternich's last waltz, which was very inspiring. After the music was finished and the tea-table removed, I was shown to my rooms; I reached them by a tiny winding staircase, the walls of which were hung with Adrianople (turkey red), and covered with miniatures and fine engravings.

Dinner was served very sumptuously; the servants were in plush breeches and had powdered hair. I sat on the left of Prince Metternich and next to Count Kevenhüller, who is a Knight of Malta. I said to the Prince, "A Knight of Malta always suggests to my mind romance and the Middle Ages."

"It shows," the Prince replied, "how naïve you are. It is true that he is middle-aged, but he has not a ray of romance in him. Don't trust him! Maltese Knights and Maltese cats do their killing on the sly."

During the dinner delicious Johannisberg was served alternately with ordinary beer. Conversation alternated with laughter, and after dinner albums and music alternated with flirtations. The Prince played some of his charming new songs. On the piano was a beautifully bound book containing them. He pointed to it, saying, "I have had this made for you," and showed me the title-page, where he had written, "À l'Inspiratrice!" I was tremendously pleased and sang all the songs, one after the other. The Prince has had leisure to compose a great deal since he retired into private life. He is wonderfully talented--not only for music, but for painting. Everything he does he does better than any one else.

He said that during the war, when he was obliged to stay in Bordeaux, he would have died of ennui if he had not had his music and drawing to occupy him, especially as the Princess and the children were not with him, and he was dreadfully lonely.

It was a lovely night, and we walked till very late on the terrace and gazed at the view across the Rhine, over the miles of vineyards and little villages sparkling with lights.

The Prince told me all about the Empress's flight from the Tuileries after the catastrophe of Sedan. He said that when the news came to the Embassy that the mob was about to enter the Tuileries he communicated with Count Nigra (the Italian Ambassador), and they decided to go there instantly, to offer their services to the Empress.

When they arrived there they saw the mob already before the gates. They left their carriages on the quay, and entered by a door into the gallery of the Louvre, and hurried to the apartment of the Empress. There they found her with Madame Le Breton. She was very calm and collected, already dressed in a black-silk gown, and evidently prepared for flight. She had in her hand a small traveling-bag, which contained some papers and a few jewels.

Seeing them, she exclaimed, "Tell me, what shall I do?"

The Prince said, "What does General Trochu advise, your Majesty?"

"Trochu!" she repeated. "I have sent for him twice, but he does not trouble himself to answer or to come to me."

Then the Prince said, "Count Nigra and I are here to put ourselves entirely at your Majesty's service."

The Empress thanked them and said: "What do you think best for me to do? You see how helpless I am."

The Prince answered that, according to their judgment, the wisest thing for her Majesty to do would be to leave Paris at once, and added that his carriage was there and she could make use of it.

She then put on her hat and cloak and said, "I am ready to follow you."

They went through the Pavilion de Flore and through the Galerie du Louvre until they reached a small door leading out on to the quay, where the two coupes were waiting. The Prince had already thought of one or two friends to whom the Empress could go and remain until they joined her, to help her to devise some means for leaving Paris. He said that during the long walk through the gallery the Empress remained calm and self-possessed, though one could see that she was suffering intensely.

They reached the quay without hindrance and found the carriages. The Prince opened the door of his and gave his orders to his coachman; but the Empress suddenly refused, saying that she preferred to go in a cab, and begged them not to follow her.

There was a cab-stand directly opposite where they stood. They hailed one, and she and Madame Le Breton were about to get in when a little boy cried out, "Voilà l'Impératrice!" Count Nigra, quick as thought, turned on the boy and said in a loud voice, "Comment! tu cries 'Vive la Prusse!" and boxed his ears, so that attention should be diverted from the Empress.

The Prince gave the names of the streets and the numbers of the houses to the cabman where he had proposed to the Empress to go, and the ladies drove away.

"Did you not follow her?" I asked.

"Yes" he answered. "In spite of the Empress's wishes, after allowing enough time for her to get well on her way, we drove to the two addresses given, but did not find her at either of them. We could not imagine what had happened to her."

"What _had_ happened to her?" I asked.

"It was only after hours of the greatest anxiety that we ourselves knew. About six o'clock I received a note from the Empress saying that she had gone to the two houses we had named, but that no one was there, and then, not knowing what to do, had in despair thought of Dr. Evans, the dentist, and had driven to his house, where she was in safety for the moment."

"What a dreadful moment for the Empress! How did she dare to send the note to you?"

"It was imprudent," said the Prince; "but she intrusted it to Dr. Crane, who happened to be dining with Dr. Evans. He brought it to me and gave it into my own hands."

"Did you go to see her?"

"Yes, I went to see her; but strict orders had been given not to let any one enter, not even me."

The Prince showed me this letter, which he kept locked up in a desk. Seeing the tears in my eyes, he said, giving me the envelope, "I know you will value this, and I beg you will keep it."

À Son Altesse Le Prince de Metternich

L. Napoléon.]

I told him that I would value it more than any one possibly could, and did not know how to thank him enough.

He told me a great deal more about the Empress, her hardships and trials, and how brave she had been through them all. She never uttered a word of reproach against any one, except against Trochu, whom she called an arch- traitor. He told me also of the last time he had seen her Majesty at Chiselhurst, and how sad this interview had been. The beautiful and adored Empress of France now a widow and an exile! I was sorry that our conversation was interrupted--I could have listened for hours; but tea was announced, and we were obliged to leave the library.

The next day the Prince and his friends were deeply engaged in making a kite; they tried everything imaginable to coax it to fly, but it refused. The Prince even mounted a ladder, hoping to catch the wind by holding it higher; but all in vain. The moment he let go, down flapped the kite with almost human spitefulness.

After the Prince had said _saperlotte!_ twenty times, they gave up the kite and played tennis, a new game, over which he is as enthusiastic as he used to be over croquet, until the blast of a horn announced the arrival of the archducal four-in-hand, which they were expecting.

Then there was a hurried putting on of coats and wiping of perspiring brows, and they all went forward to receive the Archduke Louis, who had driven over from Wiesbaden to spend the day, bringing with him some younger gentlemen.

Prince Metternich immediately proposed their playing tennis. Some of them were eager to do so, but the Archduke, being fatigued by his long drive, begged to go to his room until luncheon.

Then, while the gentlemen were playing tennis, the Princess took me to the kitchen-garden to show me the American green-corn, planted from seeds which we had given to her at Petit Val four years ago. She told me, with great joy, that we were to have some for dinner.

After luncheon we were invited to visit the famous wine-vaults. The intendant appeared with the keys, and, accompanied by a subordinate, we followed him down the stairs to the heavily bolted oak door, which he opened with a flourish. The first thing we saw, on entering, was _Willkommen_ in transparencies in front of the entrance.

These cellars had the same dimensions as the castle, one hundred feet each way. Rows and rows of large casks placed close together lined the walls, and each cask had a lighted candle upon it embedded in plaster. Lamps hung at intervals from the vaulted ceiling, giving a weird look to the long alleys, which seemed to stretch out for miles through the dim vista.

We walked on. Every little while we came to what the Prince called a _cabaret_, and what the Princess called more poetically a _bosquet_, but which literally was a table and chairs surrounded by plants. The smell of the wine was overpowering. When we reached _bosquet_ No. 1 the intendant handed each of us a full glass of Johannisberg, the same that was served at the table; at _bosquet_ No. 2 we received only half a glass of a finer quality. At _bosquet_ No. 3, on the walls of which were the initials of the Duchess d'Ossuna (E. O., formed by candles), we only got a liqueur glassful.

The farther we went the older, and therefore the more valuable, the wine was, and the less we were given. When we reached _bosquet_ No. 6, the last stop, we were allowed a discreet sip from a sherry glass, which was passed on from one to the other like a loving-cup.

We were told that the wines from the years 1862 and 1863 are considered to be the best. It is strange that they are entirely different from each other; the first is very sweet and the second is very dry.

What was my surprise to see here, "I know a Lillie fair to see," against the walls designed in candles. The Princess told me that the Prince had been a long time making this, and I hope I showed due appreciation of the compliment. I was immensely flattered.

The wine is the color of amber, or pale yellow, according to the year, and tastes delicious; the aroma reminds one of sandalwood.

The wines of the best years are only sold in bottles bearing the cachet of the Prince's arms, and the autograph of the intendant; the color of the seal denotes the quality. _Cabinet bleu_ is the best that can be bought; the less fine qualities are sold in barrels.

You will be interested to hear how they gather the grapes. It is very carefully done: each bunch is picked like a flower, and each grape is selected with the greatest care; any grape with the slightest imperfection is discarded. They remain longer on the vines here than anywhere else, so that the sweetness of the grape is doubly concentrated.