In the Courts of Memory, 1858-1875 Part 47

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 Abbe. 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 t.i.t-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 s.h.i.+p 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 pa.s.sed the afternoon dividing the time between listening to the music of the s.h.i.+p's band and tasting different beverages and eating German pretzels and teaching the sailors how to plait.

At five o'clock we were rowed ash.o.r.e, 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 bra.s.s 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 bra.s.ses 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 pa.s.sed 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!

WAs.h.i.+NGTON, _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 Was.h.i.+ngton 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-s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+ning 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. Schlozer) 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 Na.s.saus 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 s.p.a.ce 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 ecole_ 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 _ecole_ I am doing, and I rather enjoy the wild way we career over s.p.a.ce. 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 _caleche a 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 chateau. 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 chateau 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 d.u.c.h.ess d'Ossuna, Count Zichy, Count Kevenhuller, Count Fitz-James, and Commandant Duperre. 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 coa.r.s.est kind of ecru 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 chateau 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 Kevenhuller, 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 nave 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."