An historical town—Rarity of ruins in the River Plate countries—Specimens at Colonia—Situation of the town—Past antagonism between the capitals of Argentina and Uruguay—Present aspect of Colonia compared with the former—A sleepy hollow—Periodical awakenings of the place—Impressions of the old town—Its colouring and compactness—Fortifications of the city of discord—A warlike history—Nations that have warred together at this spot—The reddest corner in a bloodstained land—Surroundings of the town—Crumbling masonry—A medley of old and new—A Colonia street—Old-time scenes of peace and war—Some pictures of the past—Cannon as road posts—The Plaza—An episode in the wars with Portugal—The eternity of romance—Real de San Carlo—A modern watering-place—Its buildings—The bullring—A gigantic pelota-court—Popularity of the spot—A miniature tramway—Attractions of Real de San Carlo—Vegetation on the sands—A curious colour scheme—Pleasant lanes—Buenos Aires as a supplier of tourists.
The small town of Colonia stands quite alone in many respects. Not as regards situation, climate, and a reputation as a pleasure resort. In all these three the spot is especially favoured; yet in each of these it possesses a number of formidable rivals along the Uruguayan coast. Excursionists flock to Colonia, it is true, but such flighty nomads are more concerned with beaches and bathing than with the subtler and deeper interests of the spot.
To the historian and to the antiquarian Colonia represents a gem. It must be admitted that the values of such treasures go strictly by comparison. Uruguay is rich in the amethyst and topaz, but poor in architectural ruins. Indeed, these romantic features are distressingly—or pleasingly—rare throughout all the lands that made up the provinces of the old River Plate. So far as I am aware, almost the sole examples of any real antiquity are to be met with in the Jesuit ruins of Paraguay and the Misiones Province, and in the few fragmentary Inca relics upon the Andes slopes. Beyond these there is Colonia. Therefore if the gem lack the full brilliance of some of the specimens that an older continent can produce, its importance must not be under-estimated, since it possesses the rare merit of being all but unique in its own country.
From the Uruguayan bank of the great river Colonia faces Buenos Aires. The one is not visible from the other, since almost forty miles separate the two cities—a distance that has frequently been found too short for the peace of mind of both. For, although they now sit on their respective banks in undisturbed peace, the past has only too many instances to show of how the pair opposed each other with an active hostility that worked its share in the building up of the warlike history of Colonia.
The present fate of Colonia is much akin to that of many of those spots that serve as the decayed shells of old-time battles and terrific alarums. In short, it is a sleepy hollow. There are certainly times when a large river steamer comes to rest for a while against its wooden jetty, and disgorges a crowd of tourists who wander aimlessly about the quaint streets. But such spells are short, since the interests of the spot can compare in the minds of very few of such visitors with the great bullring and pelota-court, recently erected some half-dozen miles up-stream, to which they are on their way. Thus the place has barely time to shake its old walls, and yawn with its blank windows, wondering at this sudden new life that has sprung up within it, when the spasm has passed away, and Colonia sinks back from its semi-conscious state into full slumber again.
The first impressions of the old town, when viewed from the river, present a rather strange medley of brown, yellow, grey, white, pink, and green. Thrown together as abruptly as this, the colour scheme doubtless sounds perplexing. Yet in reality the tints blend with consummate harmony. The brown is rendered by the rocks that hem in the little bays and inlets of the foreground, while the lichen that clings to the stone accounts for a strangely brilliant yellow. The grey is produced by the most important asset of the town, the ruined walls and battlements of the fortifications that pile themselves sullenly upon the rocks along the river bank, penetrating the waters at many points. The pink and white gleam very softly from the more modern houses in the background that mingle with the old, crumbling erections of grey, while at close intervals the verdure of trees and shrubs sprouts out thickly from amongst the masonry. To conclude with all this colour, so far as possible at one fell swoop, the town is dominated by a brilliant white lighthouse shaft and the twin red towers of a modern church.
Undoubtedly one of the most curious effects for which Colonia is responsible is that of its compactness. There is scarcely a town in Uruguay, or in Argentina either, whose outskirts do not straggle far away from the centre into the Campo. To one who has inevitably become accustomed to these architectural loose-ends the accurately defined boundaries of the riverside town are not a little striking. The reason is a very simple one. In the old days the city of discord was completely surrounded by fortifications and, since it has performed the feat—almost unique in the country—of failing to grow in extent since that time, its original abrupt boundaries have remained. The result, from an artistic point of view, is undoubtedly far more imposing than that produced by the stress of modern development.
Colonia is not a town to be skimmed over lightly. It is worthy of almost as careful a reconnoitring as it has frequently suffered in the past. For the place can boast of half a dozen regular sieges, and pitched battles, sallies, and skirmishes galore. Indians and Spaniards, Spaniards and Portuguese, Uruguayans and Spaniards, Uruguayans and Portuguese—all these have fought together here on countless occasions, and yet the list of the warring companies is not ended. The red ponchos of Urquiza's Gauchos have charged up to the grey walls, staining the brown earth crimson as they went; buccaneers of all nations have come and gone, and the scarlet of a British garrison has gleamed out against the background of stone. Colonia is the reddest spot of all in a sadly bloodstained land.
But, however much the aftermath of battles may brood, the aspect of the place is as fair as could be desired. Just opposite its site are the first green islands of the river, the oceanward outposts of the lengthy series that rest in the midst of the waters upstream. This shore of the mainland itself is picturesque in another fashion. Bright semicircles and crescents of sand fringe the rocks of the innumerable small bays. Upon the natural boulders, and ledges, and heaps of masonry above are clusters of green leaves starred with blossoms. Here and there a growth of more artificial kind is spread upon the stone; for the sole figures upon the foreshore are those of two washerwomen, busily engaged amongst the pools, whose variegated harvest is increasing in area as it is spread out to dry.