CHAPTER XVI.
Buenos Ayres.
February 25th.—The Argentine confederation, composed originally of thirteen states, joined together in compact, but not by constitution, under the style of the United Provinces of La Plata, has become practically consolidated and merged in the State of Buenos Ayres. Being the only province possessed of a sea-port, and enjoying an extended commerce, she was encharged by the others with the management of the foreign relations of the confederacy. This naturally made her the controlling power; she increased while the rest decreased. The result was a division of the people of the provinces into two parties, and speedy conflict and anarchy. At this juncture Rosas raised his standard, and subdued the whole to his sway; and though nominally only governor of the city and province of Buenos Ayres, encharged with the sole ministration of the foreign affairs of the confederacy, he is, in fact, the despotic ruler of the whole.
He is the most remarkable chieftain in South America; possessing all the elements of character essential to the successful despot: firmness, energy, shrewdness, subtlety, unscrupulous purpose, and unfaltering cruelty. Sprung from a Spanish family of respectability in Buenos Ayres, the recklessness of his early youth led to his removal by them to what is here termed the “Camp”—the open country of the pampas, over which are scattered the estancias, or estates of landed proprietors, for the raising of cattle, sheep, and horses. Here, among the gauchos, or demi-savage peasants of the interior, he was made an overseer by a wealthy relative in Buenos Ayres. Adopting the usages and habits of savage life of the people, he became, in the course of years, thoroughly a gaucho; and distinguished himself by the control he acquired over his associates, and over the scarcely more untamed Indians of the southern territory. He excelled in all the personal qualities and feats of skill most prized by them, and gained their unlimited favor. The reputation thus established, first called the attention of partisan leaders in the confederacy to him; and secured for him, as early as 1820, from the party in power the appointment of colonel of the militia of the southern frontier. In this position he gained additional reputation and new popularity; till, fired with ambition, he began in 1829 to lay the foundations for the despotism which he has since exercised. Having secured the favor of the good among the people, by the evidences he had given of a power to win the confidence and to control the will of the wild men around him, he is charged with the determination of gaining that of the evil, by making his camp the sanctuary of every class of criminals; and thus surrounding himself—with the deliberate purpose of making the use of them he afterwards did—by an organized band of assassins. Whether this be true or not, it is an undoubted fact that, after being placed at the head of the government, he soon put an end to all hazard of rivalry in power, by processes of bloodshed and assassination through such minions of his favor, almost beyond belief. Volumes might be written, as volumes already have been, upon the tragedies with which, from time to time in his early rule, he startled and terrified the community, till every one was brought to the subjection of abject fear: all this, too, under the pretence and plausible plea of sustaining the law and securing public quietude and order.
The justification which he himself pleads, for acts of cruelty which are admitted, is that “the Argentines can only be governed with the knife at their throats;” and the highest vindication of his character which I have heard from some foreigners, who do not believe in the extent of the atrocities with which he is charged, and are disposed even to admire him as a man and a ruler, is that his faults are to be attributed to the defects of his education and his habits as a gaucho—that he is but a type of the people. This may be true; but what is the state and character of the people—the gauchos of whom he is the type? The best description I have seen of them, is in a pamphlet by the Chevalier de St. Robert, a French gentleman, who visited the Plata officially. This you may not be able to refer to, and I furnish the extract in point.
He says: “There is nothing to be found in the Pampas—those immense plains which extend over a space of more than seven hundred leagues, from the extreme north to the extreme south of the Argentine Confederation—but estancias, or farms, scattered here and there, which form so many petty republics, isolated from the rest of the world, living by themselves, and separated from each other by the desert. Alone in the midst of those over whom he is a complete master, the estanciero is out of every kind of society whatsoever, with no other law than that of force, with no other rules to guide him but those that are self-imposed, and with no other motive to influence than his own caprice. There is nothing to disturb his repose, nothing to dispute his power, or interfere with his tranquillity, except the tiger that may lurk about his grounds, or the wild Indian that may occasionally make a hostile incursion on his domains. His children and his domestics, gauchos like himself pass the same sort of life; that is to say, without ambition, without desires, and without any species of agricultural labor. All they have to do is to mark and to kill, at certain periods, the herds of oxen and flocks of sheep which constitute the fortune of the estanciero, and that satisfy the wants of all. Purely carnivorous, the gaucho’s only food consists of flesh and water—bread and spirituous liquors are as much unknown to him as the simplest elements of social life.
“In a country in which the only wealth of the inhabitants arises from the incessant destruction of innumerable herds and flocks, it can easily be understood how their sanguinary occupation must tend to obliterate every sentiment of pity, and induce an indifference to the perpetration of acts of cruelty. The readiness to shed blood—a ferocity which is at the same time obdurate and brutal—constitutes the prominent feature in the character of the pure gaucho. The first instrument his infantile hand grasps is the knife—the first things that attract his attention as a child, are the pouring out of blood and the palpitating flesh of animals. From his earliest years, as soon as he is able to walk, he is taught how he may with the greatest skill approach the living beast, hough it, and, if he has strength, kill it. Such are the sports of his childhood: he pursues them ardently, and amid the approving smiles of his family. As soon as he acquires sufficient strength, he takes part in the labors of the estancia; they are the sole arts he has to study, and he concentrates all his intellectual powers in mastering them. From that time forth he arms himself with a large knife, and for a single moment of his life he never parts with it. It is to his hand an additional limb—he makes use of it always, in all cases, in every circumstance, and constantly with wonderful skill and address. The same knife that in the morning has been used to slaughter a bullock, or to kill a tiger, aids him in the daytime to cut his dinner, and at night to carve out a skin tent, or else to repair his saddle, or to mend his mandoline.
“With the gaucho the knife is often used as an argument in support of his opinions. In the midst of a conversation, apparently carried on in amity, the formidable knife glitters on a sudden in the hands of one of the speakers, the ponchos are rolled around the left arm, and a conflict commences. Soon deep gashes are seen on the face, the blood gushes forth, and, not unfrequently, one of the combatants falls lifeless to the earth; but no one thinks of interfering with the combat, and when it is over, the conversation is resumed as if nothing extraordinary had occurred. No person is disturbed by it—not even the women, who remain as cold, unmoved spectators of the affray! It may easily be surmised what sort of persons they must be, of which such a scene is but a specimen of their domestic manners.
“Thus the savage education of the estancia produces in the gaucho a complete indifference as to human life, by familiarizing him from his most tender years to the contemplation of a violent death, whether it is that he inflicts it on another, or receives it himself. He lifts his knife against a man with the same indifference that he strikes down a bullock. The idea which everywhere else attaches to the crime of homicide does not exist in his mind; for in slaying another, he yields not less to habit than to the impulse of his wild and barbarous nature. If perchance a murder of this kind is committed so close to a town that there is reason to apprehend the pursuit of justice, every one is eager to favor the flight of the guilty person. The fleetest horse is at his service, and he departs, certain to find, wherever he goes, the favor and sympathy of all. Then, with that marvellous instinct which is common to all the savage races, he feels no hesitation in venturing into the numerous plains of the pampas. Alone, in the midst of a boundless desert, and in which the eye strains itself in vain to discover a boundary, he advances without the slightest feeling of uneasiness: he does so watching the course of the stars, listening to the winds, discovering the cause of the slightest noise that reaches his ears, and at length arrives at the place he sought, without even straying from it, for a moment. The lasso which is rolled around his horse’s neck; the bolas suspended from his saddle, and the inseparable knife, suffice to insure him food, and to secure him against every danger, even against the tiger. When he is hungry, he selects one out of the herds of beeves that cover the plain, pursues it, lassos it, kills it, cuts out of it a piece, of flesh, which he eats raw, or possibly cooks, and thus refreshes himself for the journey of the following day.
“If murder be a common incident in the life of a gaucho, it often also becomes the means to him of emerging from obscurity, and of obtaining renown among his associates. When he has rendered himself remarkable by his audacity and address in single combats, companions gather round him, and he soon finds himself at the head of a considerable party. He ‘commences a campaign,’ sets himself in open defiance of the laws, and in a short time acquires a celebrity which rallies a crowd about him, and makes him a chieftain.” Such are the people of whom Rosas is the type, and such the processes, in a qualified degree at least, by which he attained, and still holds his supremacy.
Are you not afraid of your life even in Buenos Ayres? you will be ready to ask, after reading such a description of the people who surround, and have the military guardianship of the city. I reply, that there probably is not a city in the civilized world, in which all, not suspected of political or partisan offense, are more perfectly secure in life, limb, and property. The police is perfect. The stranger and foreigner especially, may move about the streets at any hour of the night, with perfect impunity. Theft, robbery, and burglary are unheard of; and a pocket-handkerchief or purse dropped in the street, if bearing any mark which indicates its owner, will be sure to be returned to him, or quickly be found in the keeping of the police.
February 26th.—The impressions made by Buenos Ayres in its external aspect, are increasingly favorable. The plan of the town is rectangular, like that of Philadelphia. Every street is of the same width, and every square of the same dimensions. The streets are narrow, just wide enough for two vehicles to pass each other, and the sidewalks comfortable only for those moving in Indian file. In walking two abreast, or arm in arm, there is a constant jostling against passers-by. In some parts of the town the sidewalks are elevated two or three feet above the level of the carriage-way. The city being a dead level, and the streets straight, long vistas in them are every where commanded. Some of these are striking, and where the domes and fine towers of the old Spanish churches come in as leading features, are quite European. These stately old structures are scattered about in various localities, and, with the citadel on the highest rise of ground overlooking the river, are the chief, if not the only sombre objects in the architecture of the place: still retaining the natural color of the brick of which they are built, or exhibiting time-stained surfaces of stone or stucco, and roofs covered with moss, lichens, and grass. Till within a few years, the houses were uniformly one story only in height. This is still the case in many quarters, but in others, successive blocks and almost entire streets are now composed of those of two stories. The general plan of all is the same: the Spanish, or rather Moorish quadrangle, upon which all the apartments open, with a cistern, and sometimes a fountain in the centre. In many of the establishments of the wealthy, there are a succession of these quadrangles. Filled with shrubbery and flowers, and often ornamented by a fountain, the view from the street through them, terminating not unfrequently in an assimilating scene in fresco against a wall in the far perspective, is quite impressive in stage effect. The custom of constantly applying fresh whitewash to buildings new and old, gives to the whole city a clean and bright look. Here and there, however, in almost every street, a quaint and antiquated building is seen, contrasting with later structures, in the manner of the old Dutch houses still remaining, a few years ago, in New York and Albany, with those of modern date. These are a single story in height, with slanting, instead of flat roofs, covered with tile. Over the central door, however, there is a kind of demi-tower, furnished with a window and projecting balcony, as a look-out and place of parley with an outsider whose motive for demanding admittance might be questioned. In many cases these look-outs are quite tasteful in their architecture, and pleasing to the eye from the air they bear of the “olden time.” Lichens, air-plants, and tufting grass clinging to the cornices and mouldings and ornamented pinnacles, give to them a venerable, moustached, and bearded aspect, that cannot fail to arrest the eye of the lover of the antique.
Great improvements have been made of late years, both in the external architecture and internal arrangements of private dwellings. Many of the mansions recently erected would scarcely suffer, in point of richness and elegance, by comparison with some of the most luxurious of the Fifth Avenue in New York. This is especially true of one just being completed by Gen. P——, the minister of war: though the lofty and massive entrance-gates, in complicated and artistic patterns of cast-iron bronzed, and the colonnades of Moorish arches surrounding its quadrangular courts within, would not entirely harmonize with the prevailing architecture of that street of palaces.
Every house here is necessarily a castle, having its windows on the street barred and grated, with portals not easily to be forced, and parapets, upon the flat roof, capable of effective defence against assailants below. Being without cellars or basement-rooms, the level of the floors is elevated but little above that of the street, and as no railing or area intervenes between the sidewalks and the large windows, which descend to the floors, the interior of the room is as open to the inspection of the passers by, as to the inmates themselves. In some residences of wealth and taste, a vista of room after room in long suites, richly furnished, is thus exposed to view. The apartments on the street, with scarcely an exception, are reception and drawing-rooms; and, in the afternoons and evenings, the promenaders in the street are thus furnished with a succession of tableaux vivans of females—not occupied as with us in conversation, or reading, or fancy work, or other employments of leisure and taste, and grouped with husbands, and fathers, and brothers, and sons, and other male friends—but seated in formal rows, or in a semicircle around the windows, in a greater or less degree of ‘full dress,’ with little interchange of conversation among themselves, and evidently for the mere purpose of seeing and being seen. Every thing in their dress and manner shows the studied purpose of exciting admiration. These exhibitions, however, are only in hours of costume. Till late in the day the ladies of the country in general are invisible; very much in undress, lounging, and idling, and sipping Paraguay tea through the silver tube of the maté cup.
An American or Englishman cannot fail to be struck with the seemingly slight intercourse of the male and female members of a family. The latter are to all external appearance without husbands, fathers, brothers, or sons. You meet them in numbers in the morning, going to and returning from mass, followed by a servant or servants, but seldom, if ever, attended by a male relative. The evening is a favorite time for shopping, and the streets are often crowded in some sections, with ladies thus engaged, but unattended by a gentleman in escort. And in the hundreds of parlors and drawing-rooms into which I have looked in passing, I do not recollect ever to have seen a gentleman, old or young, in the groupings of a family circle.
A week being the extent of the leave of absence which I feel willing to take from my charge on board ship, and from the voluntary duty I have assumed at the chapel in Montevideo; with the purpose of returning to the Congress to-morrow, I gave therefore the mornings of yesterday and to-day to calls in acknowledgment of the civilities from our fellow-countrymen, and various foreign residents, in which, as one of Commodore McKeever’s party, I have shared. In the course of these, I accompanied the Commodore and Mr. G—— in a visit to the Conde de Bessi, bishop of a diocese of unpronounceable name and unknown region, and nuncio from the Pope to Rosas. The disregard which Rosas has shown in ecclesiastical matters for the supremacy of the Pope, and the sacrilege, in the view of the Romish Church, of some of his acts, led long ago to his excommunication, and the withdrawal by the Papal States from all diplomatic intercourse with him. The Conde de Bessi has recently arrived, with overtures of reconciliation. Though every civility has been paid to him in his official character, by the government, and a house elegantly fitted and furnished been appropriated to his use, with other marks of courtesy—carriages and horses at his service—he has not yet been admitted to an audience, and, it is believed, will not be. The preliminary to negotiation which the nuncio demands—the release of the clergy from the obligation of wearing the red ribbon, stamped with the motto of death to the political opponents of the dictator, which they are forced to do, even while officiating at the altar—is one that will not be accorded; and unless the legate yields on this point, he will fail in his mission.
Our visit being announced, we were ushered into the cabinet of his excellency—first through a large and elegantly furnished saloon, and then through a smaller apartment, fitted as a chapel with all the appliances of Romish worship. The reception of our party by the count was most courteous, and the conversation in French which ensued, animated, and on his part, most complimentary to the United States, as to her prosperity and her power. He appears to be about forty years of age; is very plump and healthful, with little that is ascetic in look or manner. He is very handsome, with a face as fresh and smooth and round as that of a female, and an expression beaming with benignity and high breeding. His voice and intonation are of the most silvery softness, and his whole manner as feminine and polished as that of a duchess. Indeed, so remarkably was this the case, that as I looked at him in his silken robe of purple reaching to the heels, and with a cap of velvet on his head, of corresponding color, I found it difficult to disabuse myself of the impression that the interview was with one of the fair sex.