The West Indies and the Spanish Main

by Anthony Trollope

I do not think that the inhabitants of Costa Rica have much to boast of in the way of personal beauty. Indeed, the descendant of the Spaniard, out of his own country, seems to lose both the manly dignity and the female grace for which old Spain is still so noted. Some pretty girls I did see, but they could boast only the ordinary prettiness which is common to all young girls, and which our friends in France describe as being the special gift of the devil. I saw no fine, flaming, flashing eyes; no brilliant figures, such as one sees in Seville around the altar-rails in the churches: no profiles opening upon me struck me with mute astonishment.

The women were humdrum in their appearance, as the men are in their pursuits. They are addicted to crinoline, as is the nature of women in these ages; but so long as their petticoats stuck out, that seemed to be everything. In the churches they squat down on the ground, in lieu of kneeling, with their dresses and petticoats arranged around them, looking like huge turnips with cropped heads—like turnips that, by their persevering growth, had got half their roots above the ground. Now women looking like turnips are not specially attractive.

I was at San José during Passion Week, and had therefore an opportunity of seeing the processions which are customary in Roman Catholic countries at that period. I certainly should not say that the Costa Ricans are especially a religious people. They are humdrum in this as in other respects, and have no enthusiasm either for or against the priesthood. Free-thinking is not the national sin; nor is fanaticism. They are all Roman Catholics, most probably without an exception. Their fathers and mothers were so before them, and it is a thing of course.

There used to be a bishop of Costa Rica; indeed, they never were without one till the other day. But not long since the father of their church in some manner displeased the President: he had, I believe, taken it into his sacred head that he, as bishop, might make a second party in the state, and organize an opposition to the existing government; whereupon the President banished him, as the President can do to any one by his mere word, and since that time there has been no bishop. "And will they not get another?" I asked. "No; probably not; they don't want one. It will be so much money saved." Looking at the matter in this light, there is often much to be said for the expediency of reducing one's establishment. "And who manages the church?" "It does not require much management. It goes on in the old way. When they want priests they get them from Guatemala." If we could save all our bishoping, and get our priests as we want them from Guatemala, or any other factory, how excellent would be the economy!

The cathedral of San José is a long, low building, with side aisles formed by very rickety-looking wooden pillars—in substance they are hardly more than poles—running from the ground to the roof. The building itself is mean enough, but the internal decorations are not badly arranged, and the general appearance is neat, orderly, and cool. We all know the usual manner in which wooden and waxen virgins are dressed and ornamented in such churches. There is as much of this here as elsewhere; but I have seen it done in worse taste both in France and Italy. The façade of the church, fronting the pláza is hardly to be called a portion of the church; but is an adjunct to it, or rather the church has been fixed on to the façade, which is not without some architectural pretension.

In New Granada—Columbia that was—the cathedrals are arranged as they are in old Spain. The choir is not situated round the altar, or immediately in front of it, as is the custom in Christian churches in, I believe, all other countries, but is erected far down the centre aisle, near the western entrance. This, however, was not the case in any church that I saw in Costa Rica.

During the whole of Passion Week there was a considerable amount of religious activity, in the way of preaching and processions, which reached its acme on Good Friday. On that day the whole town was processioning from morning—which means four o'clock—till evening—which means two hours after sunset. They had three figures, or rather three characters,—for two of them appeared in more than one guise and form,—each larger than life; those, namely, of our Saviour, the Virgin, and St. John. These figures are made of wax, and the faces of some of them were excellently moulded. These are manufactured in Guatemala—as the priests are; and the people there pride themselves on their manufacture, not without reason.

The figures of our Saviour and the Virgin were in different dresses and attitudes, according to the period of the day which it was intended to represent; but the St. John was always represented in the dress of a bishop of the present age. The figures were supported on men's shoulders, and were carried backwards and forwards through every portion of the town, till at last, having been brought forth in the morning from the cathedral, they were allowed at night to rest in a rival, and certainly better built, though smaller church.

I must notice one particularity in the church-going population of this country. The women occupy the nave and centre aisle, squatting on the ground, and looking, as I have said, like turnips; whereas the men never advance beyond the side aisles. The women of the higher classes—all those, indeed, who make any pretence to dress and finery—bring with them little bits of carpet, on which they squat; but there are none of those chairs with which churches on the Continent are so commonly filled.

It seemed that there is nothing that can be called society among the people of San José. They do not go out to each other's homes, nor meet in public; they have neither tea-parties, nor dinner-parties, nor dancing-parties, nor card-parties. I was even assured—though I cannot say that the assurance reached my belief—that they never flirt! Occasionally, on Sundays, for instance, and on holidays, they put on their best clothes and call on each other. But even then there is no conversation among them; they sit stiffly on each other's sofas, and make remarks at intervals, like minute guns, about the weather.