And, parenthetically, a most telling commentary on our indifference to Argentine possibilities lies in the fact that of the many thousand vessels that transferred cargoes at these docks in 1910, only four bore the stars and stripes; whereas, prior to our Civil War (which, of course, absorbed our merchant marine)—in 1852—there were in the harbor of Buenos Aires six hundred vessels flying our flag, or more than double the number from all other nations combined. In those days the influence of our people over the commerce of the southern half of South America was predominant. A Pennsylvanian, William Wheelright, was looked upon as its father.
On leaving the docks and driving up into the city, the visitor is at once impressed with the fact that Buenos Aires is not so wholly wrapped up in the purely material as is our commercial center on Lake Michigan. It has broadened along more æsthetic lines and is cultivating the graces, not alone the sordid features, of cosmopolitanism. In the newer parts, particularly in the fashionable suburb of Belgrano, the buildings and shaded boulevards and beautifully landscaped parks resemble rather those of Paris; although it is not behind our own big cities in public utilities. Even in the business district there are no skyscrapers or elevated railroads to disturb the harmony of the architectural scheme; not even the usual promiscuous, blatant advertising posters are permitted to be displayed until they have been censored by the proper official, and when approved they are affixed to ornamentally tinted and paneled billboards, erected for the purpose. So keen, indeed, are the Bonarenses to enhance the beauty of their city that a prize is offered each year for the handsomest structure to be erected. And yet there is much that is possessed of the charm of antiquity. The occasional glimpses of blossoms and foliage one gets through doorways opening into the courtyards, or patios, of the old Spanish houses is most refreshing in the midst of so much that is modern.
It is from Paris, too, that they have acquired their culture, and their taste in dress and amusements and in literature and art. They buy their clothes in Paris and sip their French liqueurs in the cafés in true Parisian style, and they are entertained by opera and comedy companies from the best Parisian theaters. They have absorbed into their city life an Italian colony that exceeds in numbers the population of Genoa, and more Spaniards than could be crowded into Toledo, besides a multitude of British and Germans and a goodly sprinkling from the rest of Europe, and even Asia. Having taken so much from France and Italy, and being Spanish in descent and in speech, the overtone of the city is distinctly Latin, while their industrial and governmental institutions bear the mark of the Anglo-Saxon. Next to the Italian and Spanish, the British colony is the largest. Then follow the German and the French. The North Americans are small in number; less than three hundred responded to a recent effort to organize a North American Society.
The Bonarenses, however, like the denizens of the Camp, are intensely patriotic and passionately insist upon a recognition of their own distinct personalities. They are the Porteños of the great Argentine nation. Nor do they and their compatriots throughout the country welcome the inference that they are Spanish; they are Argentine. One asks a child of the streets whether he speaks Spanish or Italian. He answers haughtily (in the former language): “At home we all talk Argentine.” Strangely enough, their jingoism is not offensive; it is displayed with an amiable candor that is quite disarming. Not satisfied with being Argentine from top to toe, they seek to Argentinize even the transient guest. The rabid Argentinism of the Porteño, and his success in amalgamating the kaleidoscopic horde of Europeans and Asiatics living in his city, is illustrated by the answer of another youthful immigrant who, unable to deny that he was born in Genoa, murmured apologetically, “I was so little.”
COLÓN THEATER, BUENOS AIRES.
FEDERAL CAPITOL, BUENOS AIRES.
One of their leading daily newspapers, La Prensa, which has the handsomest newspaper building in existence, displays its patriotism by devoting a large part of its home to public uses. At its own expense it provides physicians and a consulting room, where the poor can have medical attention free, a law office where those who cannot afford to pay for it can have legal advice, an excellent museum of the manufactures and products of the country, a free technical library for the use of students, a large hall for public meetings, a charming salon des fêtes, in which literary, scientific, and charitable entertainments are given. This paper has a circulation of more than 150,000. So have La Nación and La Argentina, the two other big morning dailies. There are 225 periodicals published in the capital all together.
In this most cosmopolitan of cities the foreigners foregather in little worlds of their own. Most are represented by newspapers published in their own languages, most have clubhouses, more or less pretentious. On the same evening one season recently “The Merry Widow” was produced in Spanish, French, and Italian in as many different theaters; and there are all sorts of places of amusement where foreigners can enjoy themselves, each after his own fashion—from an immense artificial ice skating rink (a very fashionable resort, by the way) to a tropical coffee house, from a golf or race course to a pool room or bowling alley, from the most attractive and elegantly equipped of modern cafés to a little French domino parlor or German beer saloon, from a magnificent opera house to a cheap vaudeville or moving-picture theater. It is said that the foremost European artists are as likely to visit Argentina as the United States, and often do, and that many, of all but the first rank in their own countries and who do not come to North America at all, visit Buenos Aires regularly and present European successes long before they are seen in New York.