On the side nearest to the town the slopes are laid out with flower-beds, rockeries, fountains and miniature cascades. The shrubs and plants are of hot, temperate and cold climes; there are lichens and ferns, lilies, sunflowers, two or three kinds of hybiscus, gardenias, dahlias, verbenas, sago palms, roses, heliotropes, lantanas, honeysuckles, and various brilliant creepers. In the centre of the beds on the summit were two magnificent clusters of one of the commonest yet showiest orchids—Cattleya mossix—in Venezuela. The large flowers were of a rich rose colour and the lip delicately spotted; in each cluster I counted over two hundred blossoms, and they formed most attractive centre-pieces. Near by are the reservoirs which supply the city with water from the river Macarao. They are cut out of the solid rock and are of fine proportions; the distributing pipes are of iron, but it seems a mistake that the aqueduct itself should have been made by open trench-work instead of by piping.
From our elevation, Carácas looks like all other Spanish American towns; low houses with brown and red roofs, among which stand out conspicuously numerous cupolas, domes, spires, towers and the white façades of the churches. The city divides the valley of Chacao into two parts, that towards the east looking fresh and green with coffee and sugar plantations, thick groves and forest; and the other, towards the south-west, fertile and cultivated but without the rich woodland which marks the opposite side. Winding about through rows of poplars and willows, the river Guaire flows through the valley in a south-easterly direction, being joined in its course by three little streams called respectively El Caroata, El Catuche, and El Anauco. These three streams divide the town into four parts and have broad, deep beds, but in the dry season would hardly rank above gutters; yet a national writer, taking them, I suppose at the flood, has recognised in them—together with El Guaire—the four rivers of Paradise, and taking into consideration its climate of perpetual spring, has compared the situation of Carácas to that of Eden.
Still, small as these streams may be, their green banks clothed with orange, quince and avocata trees with here and there plantain, or sugar and coffee estates, give a bright smiling aspect to the valley which contrasts with the arid range of the southern hills.
The northern sierra, with its domed Silla, is also barren and grim for a considerable portion of its lower half, but above it is crowned with fine trees and foliage. I tried hard to be impressed with the scenery so highly praised by Humboldt, but I failed. Perhaps it was because I could not shake off the remembrance of another valley view, viz: that of Mexico from the hill of Chapultepec, which I had seen the previous year. In the two panoramas, there were just sufficient points of resemblance to cause a comparison. The green plain, the poplar rows, the magueys, the weeping willows, the cypresses, the ruined habitations, the white city and the mountain frame were in both pictures, but the view of modern Carácas was only a diminutive shadow that faded almost out of sight with the memory of the Mexican landscape. In the latter, everything is on so magnificent a scale, and all is enshrouded in the glamour of history.
From Chapultepec, with its giant cypresses and sad associations, the eye wanders over the garden, villages, cultivated-fields and swamps, avenues of poplars, and great aqueducts to the city itself, with its innumerable churches and convents. Beyond it sparkles a silver lake and canal, and the whole is enclosed by lofty mountains, above which tower the snow-covered heights of Popocatapetl and Iztaccihuatl, the volcanic guardians of the city of Montezuma. Though externally Carácas presents a similar appearance to other Spanish American towns, yet internally it is far brighter and more cheerful. Its streets, which intersect one another at right angles, are broad and clean, the houses are well-built, the merchants’ stores and the shop-windows are quite attractive, and what with flowers, fountains and statues, the Paris of South America—as the inhabitants love to call their little town—at certain seasons looks gay and animated.
In the centre of the city is the chief Plaza—Plaza de Bolivar—which is flanked by the Cathedral, the President’s or the Yellow House (Casa amarilla) as it is called out of compliment to the White House at Washington, the Archbishop’s Palace, and the usual collection of small shops and “palperias” that abound in all plazas. The trees and flowers are carefully tended, and the benches and chairs are not only numerous, but, strange to say, comfortable. When there is no moon the Plaza is well lighted by pretty clusters of oil-lamps. Once the city was lighted by gas, but the company—like other Venezuelan projects—failed, and now oil is used.
The middle of the Plaza is occupied by a magnificent equestrian statue of Simon Bolivar the Liberator. It is a work of art that must be deemed fully worthy of the great man, even by his most ardent admirers. An unprejudiced observer might ask whether the man was worthy of the statue. It is doubtful whether the true life and character of Bolivar will be known or at least acknowledged. I have lately read his memoirs by General Holstein, who was chief of the Staff of the President Liberator, and with whom he claims great intimacy. The author here says, “The dominant traits in the character of General Bolivar are ambition, vanity, thirst for absolute, undivided power, and profound dissimulation.... Paez was heard to tell Bolivar, after the action at Villa del Cura, that he would move off his own troops and act no more with him in command; adding, ‘I never lost a battle wherein I acted by myself, or in a separate command, and I have always been defeated when acting in concert with you and under your orders.’ ... To these brave men (here a number of men are named) Colombia and Bolivar himself owe the expulsion of the Spaniards, and the salvation of the country, if their present expulsion may be called so. The brightest deeds of all these Generals were performed in the absence of Bolivar. Abroad they were attributed to his military skill and heroism, while in fact he was a fugitive a thousand miles from the scenes of their bravery, and never dreaming of their successes.... General Bolivar, moreover, has never in person commanded a regiment, nor four soldiers. He has never made a charge of cavalry, nor with a bayonet. On the contrary, he has ever been careful to keep himself out of danger.... Bolivar has several times offered his resignation, but never unless he knew beforehand that no one would dare appear in favour of accepting it.... The great mass of the people are ignorant, bigoted and rude, to a degree not easily conceived by one educated in almost any Protestant country. Hence it is that Bolivar’s speeches, proclamations, promises, conversations, are thought of so highly. These people, once getting a notion into their heads, keep it fast. They think Bolivar a great man, and believe that his monstrous faults are in fact the faults of others, because he tells them so.”
Colonel Hippisly in his “Narrative of the Expedition to the Rivers Orinoco and Apure, in South America,” says:—