The streets were crowded with persons of every variety of costume, and every hue of skin; from the people of Northern Europe, and the bright-complexioned native of Biscay, to the red Indian and the jet-black African. Some were on horseback, and others in carriages of very clumsy and antique construction; and of the lower order, some were riding on mules and donkeys, and others were driving animals laden with ice from the mountains, skins of brandy, and fruits and provisions of every description. Among this motley crowd we forced our way, till we reached the house of my father’s agent, a Spanish merchant, Don José Torres de Santillan by name, a very honest and good man.
As the plan of his house was similar to that of most of the larger dwellings in Lima, I will describe it. In what may be called the front of the house were two doors; one, the azaguan, was the chief entrance, and the other led to the coach-house. By the side of the azaguan was a small room with a grated window, where the ladies of the family were fond of sitting to observe the passers-by. This building formed the street side of a spacious court-yard or patio, on either side of which were a number of small rooms, and on the farther side was the dwelling-house, round which ran a balcony. In it were numerous doors; the largest opened into the sala or hall, which was furnished with several net hammocks, a row of chairs, and two sofas; while straw-matting covered the floor. Inside of it was a smaller well-furnished room, called the quadro, which was the usual reception-room; and beyond it were the dining and sleeping rooms, and the nursery. They all opened into an inner court-yard, the walls of which were ornamented with fresco paintings; and part of it was laid out as a flower-garden, with a fountain in the centre. From it one door led to the kitchen, and another to the stable. The windows were mostly in the roof, as were those in Pompeii and many ancient cities; indeed it was very similar to the plan of building followed in the south of Spain.
On hearing of our arrival, Don José hurried out and received us with the greatest attention. Our animals were led off to the stables by a number of servants, and we were conducted to the quadro, where he instantly ordered refreshments to be brought. We begged leave in the mean time to be allowed to change our dusty dresses. On our return we found hammocks slung, in which our host invited us to rest ourselves. In a hot climate there cannot be a more luxurious couch than a net hammock, as it allows the air to circulate freely round the body in the coolest part of the room. The softly-stuffed sofa of an English or French drawing-room would be insufferable. A young negress slave then brought in a tray with cups, into which she poured out some chocolate, making it froth up till they overflowed, and then handed them round to us. Cigars were next offered to us, and we smoked them till suppertime.
For this meal we adjourned to the dining-room, where our host insisted on waiting on us. It was a repetition of dinner, which the family had taken according to custom at two o’clock. The wife of Don José, and her maiden sister and three daughters, pretty, palefaced, black-eyed girls, with hair like the raven’s wing, were present, as were the family priest and two gentlemen, cousins of our host. We first had an insipid kind of soup, and then their principal dish, called puchero. It contained all sorts of meats and vegetables mixed up together—beef, pork, ham, bacon, sausage, poultry, cabbage, yuccas camotes (a sort of potato), potatoes, rice, peas, chochitas (grains of maize), quince, and banana. The meat was brought in on one dish and the vegetables on another, and they were afterwards mixed to suit our individual tastes.
At the same time a dish of picante was served. It was composed of dried meat and some pounded roots, highly seasoned with cayenne pepper, and coloured with grains of the achote, which gave it a brilliant vermilion tint. After the meat, a sort of pudding was brought in, consisting of a great variety of fruits stewed in water,—a dish I cannot praise; and then followed a dessert of delicious fresh fruits and sweet cakes, which were washed down by a tumbler of fresh water. Such is the usual dinner of a gentleman’s family in Lima. A little light sweet wine was the only liquor drunk, though in compliment to the supposed taste of our countrymen, strong wine, brandy, and other spirits were placed before us. After dinner the servant brought in a piece of lighted charcoal and a tray of cigars, which the men and the elder ladies smoked with much apparent relish; but my three fair friends declined using them.
I soon became perfectly intimate with these young ladies. They were troubled with no tiresome bashfulness to keep them silent, and they were full of life and spirits; so we rattled away in conversation in the most agreeable manner, till it was announced that some guests had arrived, and were waiting in the sala to commence dancing. Musicians appeared, and, with much spirit, boleros, fandangos, and cachuchas, and other dances, well-known in Old Spain, were commenced and kept up for some hours. As we were in the height of the amusement, the cathedral bell struck three slow measured sounds, the signal of the Oration. It was repeated by the belfries of all the churches in the city. Instantly, as if by magic, every movement was suspended. Each one said the evening prayer in a low whisper, and then made the sign of the cross; those of most consequence turning to the persons near them, uttering the words buenas noches (good night), which was repeated by all present. It is a simple but beautiful custom, and is intended to remind people of their duty to God in whatever occupation they may be engaged. It may often do good; but unless people are possessed of the true spirit of piety, custom will make them callous, and it will fail to have any beneficial effect.
I have observed this custom in many other Roman Catholic countries. In a public place full of people of different ranks, the effect is still more curious. The lively conversation of the smart lady and the gallant cavalier is cut short, the donkey-driver with uplifted arm ceases to belabour his beast, the oath dies on the lips of the rough seaman or uncouth black, the workman drops his tool, the shopman lays down his measure, children refrain from their play, men quarrelling suspend their dispute, lazy monks engaged in their constant game of draughts neglect to make the intended move, vendors of fruit no longer utter their cries, and one and all engage in silent prayer till the bell has ceased to toll, and then in a moment the noise and bustle of active life once more goes on.
When I retired to my room for the night, not a little tired with my exertion, Ithulpo made his appearance.
“How long, Señor, may I ask, does your father purpose remaining here?”
“Some short time; a week or two perhaps,” I replied, rather surprised at his question.