Male teachers of music (and, on mentioning these, the remark of Anastasius occurs to me) find good employment in this city, where all are so musical. An English lady, Miss Robinson, gives lessons on this heavenly science.
The Consulado musical school-rooms, with the young ladies warbling there on a morning, repeatedly attract the attention of the passing pedestrian. At one o’clock, attended by their mammas and slaves, with music-book under arm, those little syrens trudge home. On one or two occasions, there has been a public trial of musical skill, a sort of show-off before their relations and friends.
A musical subscription society, called The Philharmonics, has been established, and the most respectable natives and foreigners are subscribers. The vocal and instrumental performers from the theatre attend there. It is a superior affair, and held in a spacious sala of what was formerly a prison—the “Coona:” Orpheus has driven away the ministers of justice.
Using an English phrase, the mothers of Buenos Ayres keep “a sharp look-out” after their daughters, attending them to public places, and in the streets. Should the mother, by any chance, be absent, the care is probably delegated to a slave or servant, who may have their secret orders whispered to them, as well as other trusty centinels. But cannot the slave be bribed? If report speaks true, they are so; and the ardent lover has been ready to embrace the black messenger that has conveyed to him tidings from a beloved mistress.
Young ladies before marriage are, by some mothers, watched with great strictness, not unlike austerity. I fear, females here, as well as in other countries, have often given their hands without their hearts. “Why did you marry?” said a friend of mine to a lady who seemed unhappy. “To gain my liberty,” she eagerly exclaimed, “as many others have done before me.”
Marriage with the Buenos Ayres female takes place at an early age, frequently at thirteen and fourteen. Certain it is, they ripen into womanhood much sooner than those of our clime; and their beauties more quickly fade. An English female at forty looks as young as a Buenos Ayrean at thirty. How many charming and attractive women we find in England at the age of forty; and though I cannot quite agree with our gracious sovereign in his admiration of “fair, fat, and forty,” yet I have known, at home, some ladies at that age with charms and acquirements sufficient to alarm a sensitive heart. In Buenos Ayres I have likewise seen females whose beauty seems to improve as years advance; but this is a rare occurrence.
In marriage, the custom of all the family living together seems strange to English ideas, and we cannot help picturing petty jealousies and quarrels amongst such a groupe. Custom, however, and their natural happy temper, free from the corroding cares of more populous countries, prevent these. I cannot help admiring their happiness in this respect, and I trust they may long enjoy it. I know the misery I should feel, were I a father, to see a beloved child depart for ever from the parental roof.
Married females still preserve their maiden name, conjoined with that of their husband’s. The children by such marriage bear the surname of the father. The saint’s-day on which they may be born provides them with a Christian name; and, as the Romish church has a saint for every day in the calendar, the difficulties that the Rev. Mr. Shandy had to encounter are avoided.
In the lottery of names, people of all classes take their chance. It is rather droll to hear the black girls addressing each other by the names of Eugenia, Marcela, Florencia, &c. Some fair ladies bear the pretty romantic names of Rosaria, Irené, Magdalena, Victoria, Martina, Fortunata, Celestina, Adriana, &c. whilst others, not so fortunate in their time of coming into the world, are obliged to be content with the ordinary ones of Juana, Tomasa, &c. But what is there in a name? a rose would smell as sweet under any other name.
John is unquestionably the most vulgar of all names; it is worse than Tom: every body applies it, when unacquainted with one’s real appellation. In Buenos Ayres, a stranger is addressed as “Don Juan.” The Toms and Jacks of the Spanish vocabulary are softened down into Tomas and Juan.