A Female Acquaintance Has Since Given Me
Another Solution Of The Matter.
"The reason," she said, "of the difference you perceived is this, that
during the ceremonies of holy week they take off the _cascarilla_ from
their faces, and appear in their natural complexions."
I asked the meaning of the word _cascarilla_, which I did not remember to
have heard before.
"It is the favorite cosmetic of the island, and is made of egg-shells
finely pulverized. They often fairly plaster their faces with it. I have
seen a dark-skinned lady as white almost as marble at a ball. They will
sometimes, at a morning call or an evening party, withdraw to repair the
_cascarilla_ on their faces."
I do not vouch for this tale, but tell it "as it was told to me." Perhaps,
after all, it was the moonlight which had produced this transformation,
though I had noticed something of the same improvement of complexion just
before sunset, on the Paseo Isabel, a public park without the city walls,
planted with rows of trees, where, every afternoon, the gentry of Havana
drive backward and forward in their volantes, with each a glittering
harness, and a liveried negro bestriding, in large jack-boots, the single
horse which draws the vehicle.
I had also the same afternoon visited the receptacle into which the
population of the city are swept when the game of life is played out - the
Campo Santo, as it is called, or public cemetery of Havana. Going out of
the city at the gate nearest the sea, I passed through a street of the
wretchedest houses I had seen; the ocean was roaring at my right on the
coral rocks which form the coast. The dingy habitations were soon left
behind, and I saw the waves, pushed forward by a fresh wind, flinging
their spray almost into the road; I next entered a short avenue of trees,
and in a few minutes the volante stopped at the gate of the cemetery. In a
little inclosure before the entrance, a few starvling flowers of Europe
were cultivated, but the wild plants of the country flourished luxuriantly
on the rich soil within. A thick wall surrounded the cemetery, in which
were rows of openings for coffins, one above the other, where the more
opulent of the dead were entombed. The coffin is thrust in endwise, and
the opening closed with a marble slab bearing an inscription.
Most of these niches were already occupied, but in the earth below, by far
the greater part of those who die at Havana, are buried without a monument
or a grave which they are allowed to hold a longer time than is necessary
for their bodies to be consumed in the quicklime which is thrown upon
them. Every day fresh trenches are dug in which their bodies are thrown,
generally without coffins. Two of these, one near each wall of the
cemetery, were waiting for the funerals. I saw where the spade had divided
the bones of those who were buried there last, and thrown up the broken
fragments, mingled with masses of lime, locks of hair, and bits of
clothing. Without the walls was a receptacle in which the skulls and other
larger bones, dark with the mould of the grave, were heaped.
Two or three persons were walking about the cemetery when we first
entered, but it was now at length the cool of the day, and the funerals
began to arrive. They brought in first a rude black coffin, broadest at
the extremity which contained the head, and placing it at the end of one
of the trenches, hurriedly produced a hammer and nails to fasten the lid
before letting it down, when it was found that the box was too shallow at
the narrower extremity. The lid was removed for a moment and showed the
figure of an old man in a threadbare black coat, white pantaloons, and
boots. The negroes who bore it beat out the bottom with the hammer, so as
to allow the lid to be fastened over the feet. It was then nailed down
firmly with coarse nails, the coffin was swung into the trench, and the
earth shoveled upon it. A middle-aged man, wrho seemed to be some relative
of the dead, led up a little boy close to the grave and watched the
process of filling it. They spoke to each other and smiled, stood till the
pit was filled to the surface, and the bearers had departed, and then
retired in their turn. This was one of the more respectable class of
funerals. Commonly the dead are piled without coffins, one above the
other, in the trenches.
The funerals now multiplied. The corpse of a little child was brought in,
uncoffined; and another, a young man who, I was told, had cut his throat
for love, was borne towards one of the niches in the wall. I heard loud
voices, which seemed to proceed from the eastern side of the cemetery, and
which, I thought at first, might be the recitation of a funeral service;
but no funeral service is said at these graves; and, after a time, I
perceived that they came from the windows of a long building which
overlooked one side of the burial ground. It was a mad-house. The inmates,
exasperated at the spectacle before them, were gesticulating from the
windows - the women screaming and the men shouting, but no attention was
paid to their uproar. A lady, however, a stranger to the island, who
visited the Campo Santo that afternoon, was so affected by the sights and
sounds of the place, that she was borne out weeping and almost in
convulsions. As we left the place, we found a crowd of volantes about the
gate; a pompous bier, with rich black hangings, drew up; a little beyond,
we met one of another kind - a long box, with glass sides and ends, in
which lay the corpse of a woman, dressed in white, with a black veil
thrown over the face.
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