One of the finest cemeteries of the world is the Ricoleta Cemetery, the fashionable burying place of Buenos Aires. As one enters its appearance is that of a marble and granite city, with small palaces on either side, and narrow streets which are paved the same as the streets of a city. These small palaces are vaults within which the mortal remains of the departed are buried. They are of all sizes and conditions, from small to massive, and from the grand to the unpretentious. Some are the palaces of the rich and others the humble tenements of the poor. A few of these vaults contain hundreds of bodies. All have but one room that can be seen as you enter, and this room is rather furnished as a chapel of the dead, and is not, as a rule, very large. The entrance to the tomb is by a door almost at the level of the street. Sometimes a marble slab in this room may contain the sarcophagus of some distinguished member of the family, but in general this small room is only the entrance to the vault underneath, which contains the bodies. One will generally find this small room filled with flowers, real or artificial, and bouquets are oftentimes placed there at intervals of only a few days. The outside doors of this mausoleum are often of plate glass, furnished with locks, and many of them have lace curtains and gratings of iron curiously wrought. In the vault underneath the coffins are placed on shelves, one above another in niches which have been provided and then cemented in. Although this cemetery is not large it contains, so it is said, about two hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants.
One of the oddest customs in Buenos Aires is that relating to funerals and the burial of the dead. In this city funerals are great functions and the average burial is a very expensive affair. The undertakers advertise their business much as merchants advertise their dry goods. Each one will state how much more he will furnish for his money than his competitor, and praise the caskets which he will furnish and style in which he will conduct the funeral. These are provided in first, second and third class. A first-class funeral is a very imposing occasion. The hearses provided are the most ornate I have ever seen. They are always black, drawn by black horses, and the woodwork is made of carved ebony in very intricate design. Coachmen and footmen, both in the same sombre black livery, are provided, and many coaches follow the hearse, also provided with a coachman in mourning dress. Then again the newspapers will be filled with advertisements of families giving an invitation to their friends to be present at the funeral, also announcing the masses which are given from year to year on the anniversary of the funeral, and inviting their friends to be present at this solemn service. At the church servants will be posted at the door to receive the cards of those who go in, or those who send their regrets, the same as they would at any other social occasion. By scanning the papers the Argentinians keep track of the masses said for their friends. The Argentinians are very respectful toward funerals, and every one will reverently bare his head as a cortege passes by.
The expense of conducting the business of this great city runs into big figures. For the year 1909 the total sum was about thirty million dollars, but the resources were in excess of this amount. In addition to some property tax there are many special imposts, such as tax on advertising permits, building permits, slaughterhouses, markets, cemeteries, street cars, carriages, etc. The national lottery pays a certain proportion of its receipts into the municipal coffers, and the race courses also contribute. The liquor license is small, and as a result the number of such establishments where intoxicants are sold is very large, although saloons or bars after the American or English fashion are found only in the business districts. Lecherias, or milk shops, are very numerous, and thousands of gallons of milk are sold over the counters by the glass. Frozen milk takes the place of ice cream at these establishments, which are very neat and cleanly. The police force numbers nearly five thousand, or about one to every two hundred and forty persons. The fire department has numerous stations and is well organized. There are both a national and a municipal department of hygiene, which have control over all municipal sanitation. The efficient work of these organizations has brought down the death rate to where it will compare very favourably with the other large cities of the world.
The water supply and sewer system of the capital are likewise under the direction of the national government. Few cities of the world have a better service. The water is taken from the La Plata River far enough up to avoid any chance of pollution. It is obtained from wells which are driven beneath the bottom of the river, and the water is pumped through tunnels to a central station. Here it is filtered and then distributed to all sections of the city. The central reservoir, called the Aguas Corrientes, is in the heart of the city. With its imposing brick and terra cotta facing on every side, it looks like a magnificent palace, and so I thought it at first sight. Inside, however, it consists only of immense tanks from which the water gravitates over the city. This shell constructed for the water tanks cost the municipality almost a million dollars, and it is all done for the sole purpose of adding to the artistic beauty of the capital.
CHAPTER III
THE CAMP
The flat pampas, or plains, which constitute almost ninety per cent. of the Argentine Republic that is suitable for agriculture and pasture, are generally called the Camp. The name is derived from the Spanish word campo, which means country. The Camp is the mainspring of Argentine prosperity. The marble palace of the millionaire, as well as the mud hovel of the immigrant, has to thank this rich soil of the campo for its foundation. It is upon this land that the republic has grown and prospered. Its eccentricities and its products are watched with all the anxiety usually lavished upon a baby by anxious parents; and it is a pretty big infant, for the Camp comprises millions upon millions of fertile acres.
The Camp is a vast plain. It spreads its smooth, unbroken surface for hundreds of miles, with no natural hillock higher than those which the termite ants have erected, and no depression more marked than those which the huge cart-wheels have cut in the loose surface soil. It can best be characterized as an ocean of land, spreading out like an unruffled sea from horizon to horizon. Here and there, in the distance, objects may seem to arise out of this vast expanse like little islands at sea, and the illusion at times seems almost perfect. A nearer approach, however, shows them to be the buildings of an estancia, or a grove of trees. Even the groves did not exist before the hand of man altered the landscape, for the plains of Argentina were unblessed by any forest growth whatsoever—with the single exception of the rare ombu tree, specimens of which might be met with at intervals of several miles. Spots, which at a distance appear as dark lumps, finally shape themselves into humble structures of black mud, which are the homes of colonists. Their sombre and unattractive exterior may be relieved by the flaming red or vivid blue dress of an Italian girl, which makes a welcome bit of colour under the circumstances. The dust clouds in the distance will be found to be floating behind horses’ hoofs, or the wheels of a cumbersome wagon drawn by several yokes of oxen. These clouds move onward across the pampa much as the black smoke trails behind a slow-moving steamer.
These vast stretches of level land may produce a certain sense of irritation upon one newly arrived in Argentina. He may ride for league upon league on his horse, or travel for hour after hour by train, awaiting that change of scenery, which his experience leads him to believe will inevitably occur. He might start in the centre of the republic and travel for scores of leagues east, west, north or south, and find the same unending monotony. But there is, nevertheless, a certain fascination about this very vastness of the Camp which grows upon one; in these leagues upon leagues of rich soil, which here spread themselves in readiness to receive the seed from the hand of the farmer, and to yield forth an abounding harvest in return for the labour bestowed. Upon these plains one may watch the herds of cattle and the flocks of the sheep which are scattered clear to the limit of one’s vision, a distance so great that the largest animals stand out as mere specks against the sky. One may travel through miles of the golden grain ready for the sickles of the reaper, and then will come upon an equal stretch of flax in flower, which gives the fields a bluish tint. Interspersed with the wheat and flax may be seen the green corn and the purple of the alfalfa blossom. These broad patches follow one another in almost endless succession. Although one’s horizon is at all times limited, he knows that, in whatever direction he looks, that which lies beyond is an exact repetition of what is stretched out before his eyes.