CUZCO
We left La Paz on January 26, 1909, at 8.30 A.M. When we reached Guaqui
we found that our steamer was to be the old Yavarí that we had before.
She was late in arriving from Puno; the afternoon was spent in unloading
her cargo; and we did not sail until eight o’clock that evening.
The night was wet and chilly. Thunder-storms and squalls made the lake
quite rough and we had the usual discomforts. The storm and the late
start kept us from reaching Puno before 11 A.M. The regular train had
gone, but a special was made up for the convenience of the Arequipa
passengers and we reached Juliaca at one o’clock. Here I bade the last
of the _delegados_ farewell and asked for the train for Cuzco. “It had
left several hours before and the next train was due to leave day after
to-morrow!”
Thanks to the courtesy of the railway officials, however, a special
train, consisting of half a dozen freight cars and a small passenger
coach, was made up to take me as far as Checcacupe.
The coach which had been put at my disposal was old and very small,
about the size of an ancient bob-tailed horse-car. Moreover, it was
already occupied by a dozen native passengers who, like myself, had
missed the regular train. As usual, they had no end of bags, bundles,
and boxes. There was hardly room to squeeze inside the door. Undoubtedly
they had better right on the train than I did, for they had paid their
fares while I was riding on a pass. So I relinquished any claim to the
coach and took the fireman’s seat in the locomotive, which afforded me a
better opportunity of seeing the country.
We pulled out of Juliaca shortly after two o’clock and rattled along
over the plains north of Titicaca. Here I saw for the first time llamas
tied to stakes. Of all the thousands of llamas seen in Bolivia, I do not
remember one that was tied. But I soon found that the practice is
customary in and around Cuzco.
The inquisitive Indians who gathered at the stations to stare at our
train while the engine was getting a drink of water were mild-mannered
Quichuas. Puno is the northern limit of the Aymarás. The Quichua women
here wore broad-brimmed black hats covered with velvet and ornamented
with tinsel.
We did not reach Ayavari until six o’clock and it was dark before we
approached the upper part of the valley of the Pucará River and began to
climb up over the Vilcanota mountains. The night air was exceedingly
cold, but fortunately, by this time, most of the native passengers had
left the train and I was able to get a seat in the coach.
The highest station on the road, La Raya, is 14,150 feet above sea
level. From here, there is a rapid descent of 2500 feet to Sicuani which
was for many years the northern terminal of the railroad. Here, in
search of supper, I stumbled through the dark streets with the
train-crew to a filthy little Indian _chicheria_ where a half-drunken
brigand and his besotted spouse were persuaded to give us hot tea, beer,
and stale bread. The conductor of the train said I would have to spend
the night at Sicuani as he did not propose to go any further in the
dark. Unfortunately for him, orders came directing him to proceed at
once twenty-five miles further to Checcacupe in order that I might catch
the north-bound morning train. The engineer declared that it was a
dreadfully risky run from Sicuani to Checcacupe and that we would
probably never reach our destination at all. But I was too tired and
sleepy to care very much, and as soon as I got back into my little
bobtailed car, pulled out my sleeping bag, and promptly forgot all about
the train and the danger of falling into the Vilcanota River. The next
thing I knew the Checcacupe station agent was flashing his lantern in my
face and telling me to lie still as this was much the best place for me
at this time of night (1 A.M.), and I should not be disturbed until
morning. I thanked him and dropped off to sleep again, dimly conscious
that some kind of an animal was scratching about on the floor of the
little car among my dunnage bags. When I woke up, aroused by the shouts
of the train-men who were making up the train for Cuzco, I found that my
visitor was a little seven-year-old Quichua street-Arab who could speak
no Spanish, but who said as plainly as possible that he would be my
slave for ever after and desired to travel in my company. I gave him
part of my breakfast and thought little more about it, especially as Mr.
Clarence Hay, who had kindly agreed to accompany me overland from Cuzco
to Lima, met me here. Mr. Smith had gone back to New Haven to pursue his
studies.
Mr. Hay and I were soon installed on the train for Cuzco. We were
already well on our way when the polite Peruvian conductor smilingly
informed us that there was a boy in the second-class car who insisted he
belonged to me. It was too late to put the little fellow off, so I
decided to be responsible for him; but he was a foxy little rascal,
slipped out of the train at some station before we reached Cuzco, and
disappeared. Children mature early in the Andes.
At the time of our visit, the Cuzco railroad had only just been
completed. The track runs along the steep side of a valley which has an
embarrassing habit of sending down landslides quite unexpectedly, so the
journey was a bit slow and uncertain. The natives are fond of
exaggerating its irregularities, and said it would take several days,
but we were to reach Cuzco on time, notwithstanding all their dismal
forebodings.
The scenery was very pretty. The Vilcanota valley rapidly narrows as it
descends, and the river becomes a roaring torrent. The climate is
delightful and has been likened to that of Italy. The soil is extremely
fertile and produces a remarkable variety of crops.
The road follows the west bank of the Vilcanota until it is met by the
Huatanay River. Here it turns abruptly to the left and enters the
lovely region that was once the very heart of the Inca Empire. The
valley of the Huatanay is still densely populated, as it always has
been. In quick succession the train passed the large Indian cities of
Oropeza, San Geronimo, and San Sebastian. Suddenly we stopped in the
fields and took on a group of laughing Peruvian sports who had waved a
piece of red flannel to save themselves the trouble of going to the
nearest railway station. One of the joys of this railroad is that
everybody that is anybody flags the train whenever he pleases. The habit
interferes somewhat with the time-tables, but no one cares (except the
railroad people), and it gives an individual a great sense of his own
importance to make a train stop while he climbs on board. A few minutes
later we reached the temporary Cuzco station, a group of small,
corrugated-iron buildings which stand in a plain a quarter of a mile
south of the city.
The most agreeable approach is by way of the Alameda, an ill-kept avenue
with a double row of alder trees, on the west bank of the Rio Huatanay.
From it we had a fine view of the convent of Santo Domingo, the ancient
Temple of the Sun, across the ravine to the east. On the west of the
Alameda is the new rifle range of the local shooting club. The avenue
itself leads into one of the principal streets of the best residence
quarter, where Spanish houses have almost completely obliterated all
traces of Inca occupation. As soon as we reached the centre of the city,
long walls of beautifully cut stone, laid without cement, and fitted
together with the
[Illustration: LLAMAS Of CUZCO]
[Illustration: CUZCO FROM SACSAHUAMAN]
patience of expert stone-cutters, assured us that this was verily the
Cuzco of Pizarro, Garcilasso de la Vega, and the Spanish chroniclers.
The one distinctive feature that separates Cuzco from all other cities
in America is the prevalence of these long, dark, sombre walls. When you
look at a building from a distance, it seems to be an ordinary two-story
Spanish house with a red-tiled roof, wooden balconies, and white-washed
adobe walls. As you come a little closer, it strikes you that the
whitewash has been worn off the lower part of the walls, but when you
come closer still, you find that this portion consists of unpainted Inca
stone-work, still fresh and attractive.
The most striking wall in Cuzco is that of the palace said to have
belonged to the Inca Rocca, which is composed of very large irregular
boulders. They are of all sizes and shapes, some with as many as a dozen
angles, but all fitting perfectly. The stones used in most of the
ancient palaces and temples are more nearly rectangular. The
corner-stones of buildings are frequently rounded off, but there are
almost no circular walls in Cuzco. The principal exception to this is in
the Dominican Monastery, once the temple of the Sun, where the end of
one of the buildings is rounded like the chancel of a church. This is,
perhaps, the finest bit of stone-cutting in Cuzco, and is shown off by
the Dominican Fathers with great zest. E. G. Squier, who lived for some
time in the convent and made a minute examination of these walls, found
that the sides of contact of each stone are true radii of a double
circle, and that the line of general inclination of the wall is perfect
in every block.
In some of the walls, the outer surfaces of the stones are perfectly
flat, but in general, they are slightly convex. The blocks vary in
length from a few inches to several feet, although it is very rare to
find any more than five feet long. All are laid with remarkable
precision and at first sight appear to be absolutely rectangular. On
closer examination, you find that there is scarcely an absolute right
angle in the whole wall. Each block is slightly irregular, but this
irregularity matches so exactly with that of the next that there is no
space for a needle to enter. The result of such careful workmanship,
combined with the use of dark-colored stone, is to produce a dignity and
solidity that is very impressive.
The characteristics of Inca architecture are in part the same as those
of the older Egyptian ruins: individual blocks of great size; doors
narrower at the top than at the bottom, and walls with a base markedly
wider than the apex so that the sloping front is a distinct feature.
Probably the same methods which the Egyptians evolved in order to put in
position large monoliths too heavy to be lifted by hand, were employed
by the Incas. They seem to have thought nothing of fitting carefully
into place, on top of a wall fifteen feet high, boulders weighing
several tons.
The followers of Pizarro who divided Cuzco among themselves, built their
homes on the massive walls of the Inca palaces. Sometimes they left the
Inca wall standing to a height of six or seven feet. In other instances
it still rises to fifteen or twenty feet.
It is unfortunate that the Incas did not use cement. In that case the
Spaniards would have found it much more difficult to have destroyed the
ancient palaces, and more would have been left for the delectation of
students and travellers to-day. Under the circumstances, it was a simple
matter for the faithful disciples of the church to raise temples and
towers of great beauty by the simple process of tearing down Inca
palaces and using the material according to the ideas of ecclesiastical
architecture which they had brought with them from Spain.
Many travellers have studied Cuzco but none with so great care as Mr.
Squier, in whose “Peru” may be found many drawings and plans of the
rooms.
Thirty years ago, when he was here, there was no inn, and he was obliged
to depend on the kindness of the local officials and the hospitality of
the monasteries. But there is now a commodious Hotel Comercio where
reasonably good meals and decent bedrooms enabled us to be very
comfortable. Of course, the “plumbing” was conspicuous by its absence,
and there was by no means so much luxury as at the Hotel Marone in
Arequipa. However, even the Incas were not remarkably cleanly and it is
as well not to have too many of the conveniences of the twentieth
century when living in a metropolis of the fifteenth.
Cuzco has long been notorious as one of the dirtiest cities in America;
and it justifies its reputation. The stone paving of the streets is
extremely rough and unspeakably filthy. To add to the slime, the sewers
are open conduits running through the middle of the narrow streets. In
the wet season, they are kept flushed by heavy downpours. In the dry
season, they are unspeakable.
One has to be very careful where one steps while investigating the
ancient structures, for the present inhabitants are no more cleanly or
sanitary in their habits than their predecessors. It is pathetic to see
the filth and squalor that surround the walls of the magnificent old
edifices.
Although we rarely forgot to pick our way carefully through the streets,
the practice soon became a habit and did not interfere with the
enjoyment of the brilliant colors affected by the Quichuas. Their
home-made ponchos and shawls, fastened with one pin instead of two as in
Potosí, are woven of native wool and cotton. Yet though the material may
be as rare and uncommon as real alpaca, vicuña, or llama wool, the
brilliant hues are unmistakably aniline. In fact, in the market-place of
almost every city in the Andes, one is pretty sure to find a native
peddler whose specialty is the sale of German dyes.
The most striking part of the Cuzco Quichua costume is the pancake hat.
It is reversible, being made of a straw disc with a cloth-covered hole
in the centre. On one side, for rainy weather, the disc is lined with
coarse red flannel or some other worsted stuff, but the dry weather
side is elaborately covered with tinsel on black velvet. Likewise, the
loose, baggy cloth that covers the opening in the centre is lined with
velveteen on the fair-weather side and coarse woolen stuff for rain. The
men’s hats are slightly larger than the women’s, but otherwise the
fashion seems to be alike for both sexes.
Opposite our hotel was the church and convent of La Merced. Its
cloisters are noted for their fine old paintings, their elaborately
carved stone columns and arches. Its gardens are filled with rare
flowers and shrubs. In the crypt beneath the altar, Pizarro’s partner,
Almagro, and his son are supposed to have been buried. The obliging
Brother who showed us the monastery had never heard of any such
tradition. “_Quien sabe?_” and a shrug of the shoulders was all he would
reply.
Not far from La Merced is the warehouse of Sr. Lomellini, Cuzco’s
leading merchant, an Italian gentleman who, while building up an
extensive business, has devoted himself to a study of the Inca
civilization. He has brought himself in as close touch with it as
possible; the very entrance to his warehouse is a fine old Inca doorway,
while his home, half way up the side of Sacsahuaman, was once the site
of the palace of Manco Capac, the first famous Inca. He showed me with a
sad smile a few elaborately carved bronze figures or idols that looked
very much as though they had been buried for centuries in the mould of a
royal mausoleum, but instead were “made in Germany.” Later I found
similar specimens in Lima, where one “antiquarian” had the effrontery
to have three of identically the same pattern, differing only in color,
exposed for sale in the same showcase.
West of Sr. Lomellini’s warehouse is the monastery and plaza of San
Francisco. The plaza is chiefly interesting for the Beggars Fair which
is held here every Saturday evening. There are practically no pawn shops
in Cuzco, but this fair takes their place. We were told it was an
excellent opportunity to obtain bargains. It may be so for the natives,
but as we were branded at once as “foreigners who had plenty of money,”
the prices of everything were put up to the highest possible notch and
kept there. I was surprised at the amount of old rubbish, rusty nails,
bits of broken pottery, and worn-out second-hand clothing, hundreds of
things that one rarely sees exposed for sale in a pawn shop, and many on
which no one but a junk dealer would advance a penny. As a picturesque
spectacle, however, the Fair was most attractive. The plaza was lit up
by smoking torches and crowded with a swarm of bargain hunters who
jostled each other noisily up and down the long lines of traders seated
on the ground behind their wares.
Nearly all the fairs in the Andes are held on Sunday mornings. The
market-places are usually entirely deserted in the evening. I suppose in
this fair it would not do to expose cast-off household treasures to the
full light of day. Not only is the chance of making a sale much greater
when the article can only be seen by torch-light, but the newly-poor
individual, who is forced to bring hither his household goods, may more
easily avoid the scrutiny of his newly-rich neighbors.
Looming up in the darkness, above the torches, the tall tower of the
Franciscan church added a touch of solemnity to the scene. One afternoon
we had an opportunity to visit the monastery and examine the beautiful
wood-carvings in the choir. Like all the Franciscan establishments that
we visited, the rule of the order is strictly enforced, the gardens are
well kept, and although one can easily see that the Order has seen
better days, there is little to criticise.
The Great Plaza of Cuzco, once much larger than it is now, and the scene
of many Inca carnivals, is still very attractive. On its east side
stands the massive cathedral and its chapels, said to have been built
entirely of stones taken from Inca palaces near by.
On the south are the beautifully carved stone towers of what was
formerly the Church of the Jesuits. Flanking these are picturesque
two-story buildings with red-tiled roofs and overhanging wooden
balconies supported by a row of columns and arches. In the arcades
numerous small tradesmen display their wares. On the west and north of
the plaza are more two-story houses with arcades filled with interesting
little booths. Here, and on the stones of the Plaza, are cloth merchants
who have gathered their wares from England and the Continent, North and
South America; venders of pottery and Quichua toys, made in the
neighborhood; market gardeners with corn and potatoes; and peddlers of
every variety of article imaginable; some protected from the rain by
cloth shelters that look as though they had been taken from the top of a
prairie schooner in the “days of ’49”; others squatting on the rough
pavement, their wares spread out on the skins of sheep or llamas,
exposed to wind and weather.
The Plaza has had a varied history. Perhaps its most tragic day was when
it witnessed the death of Tupac Amaru. It was on the morning of the 18th
of May, 1781, that the Inca was brought forth to his execution from the
old Jesuit church. In order to prevent a repetition of Indian uprisings,
such as he had started, the Spanish authorities felt it necessary to
practice the most diabolical cruelties on both him and his wife. She was
placed on a lofty scaffold, her tongue was cut out, and an attempt was
made to garrote her with an iron screw. When it was found that her neck
was so small that she could not be strangled in this manner, the
executioners placed a lasso around her neck and pulled and hauled until
she was dead. After witnessing the death of his wife, the Inca was taken
into the centre of the square, his tongue was cut out, and his body was
drawn and quartered by four horses.
The immediate effect of his revolution was to cause laws to be
promulgated prohibiting the use of the native language, ordering the
Indians to give up their national customs and to destroy all their
musical instruments. Fortunately, these laws were not carried out. In
fact, the Quichua tongue is
[Illustration: SACSAHUAMAN]
[Illustration: THE CATHEDRAL--THE JESUIT CHURCH--THE PLAZA-CUZCO]
still used to a large extent. It was supposed by Sir Clements Markham
and other travellers fifty years ago that owing to the constantly
increasing corruption of the ancient dialect and the introduction of
Spanish modes of expression, the language of the Incas would soon be a
thing of the past. We found, on the contrary, that nine out of ten
Indians, even those who occupied stalls in the market-place of the
largest cities, either could not or would not converse in Spanish. There
was usually an Indian in the crowd who was willing to act as an
interpreter, but the great majority of the people seem to have no
acquaintance with Spanish. Furthermore, we found that the
Spanish-speaking residents all recognize the necessity of learning
Quichua.
The Prefect of Cuzco put his orderly at our disposal for the entire time
of our stay. He proved to be most useful and agreeable. A word from him
opened to us the doors of monasteries and churches, and his knowledge of
prices enabled us to get examples of Quichua handiwork without being
obliged to pay much more than the regular price. In our shopping
excursions whenever we began to accumulate more Indian toys and trinkets
than we could easily carry in our pockets, the orderly would summon the
next police officer and tell him to act as our porter. It was rather
hard to keep from laughing. Imagine a Broadway policeman toddling up
Murray Hill carrying bundles for a foreign delegate to a Scientific
Congress!
After my experience in the La Paz jail, I was curious to see what that
of Cuzco might be like. Our obliging cicerone willingly consented to
show all there was to be seen. The jail consists of an old-fashioned
Spanish dwelling built around a large courtyard. Into this inclosure all
classes of prisoners are put without any regard as to whether they are
awaiting trial or condemned to life imprisonment. There did not seem to
be any cells, and the forty or fifty prisoners were enjoying themselves
after the fashion of the inmates of English prisons of the eighteenth
century. The Government’s provision for food does not include any
luxuries, but it is possible for the prisoners to earn money and
purchase what they need. So far as we could see, there was no forced
labor, and the men were thrown entirely on their own resources. Several
were busily working at hand-looms making ponchos which they were glad
enough to sell. Others had cups carved out of horns. One unfortunate,
who happened to be asleep at the time of our visit, sent to the hotel a
gaudily painted trinket with a note saying that he hoped we would
purchase it for a good price, as he was much in need of funds. On the
whole, although the building was old, dilapidated, and quite inadequate,
according to our ideas, the prisoners seemed to be having a good time,
and there was no evidence of cruelty. The Quichuas are such a mild,
inoffensive folk that the jailers do not have the same incentive to
punish them severely as do those in La Paz who have to deal with the
cantankerous Aymarás.
On the south side of the historic plaza, next door to the Jesuit Church,
is the University of Cuzco, rather squalid by comparison with the
church, but containing some fine stone cloisters. It was founded in
1598, thirty-eight years before Harvard College. I had a very pleasant
call on its distinguished Rector, a well-read lawyer. The principal work
of the University at present consists of training men for the law.
According to the annual report of the Rector, during the year 1907 the
University conferred the degree of Bachelor of Philosophy and Letters on
four candidates, that of Bachelor of Jurisprudence on two, Bachelor of
Political Science on two, and Doctor of Jurisprudence on four. There are
eighteen instructors. They receive salaries of $35 a month, and give, on
the average, one hundred and thirty-five lectures a year. The Faculty of
Letters has a three-year course and thirty-three students. The Faculty
of Jurisprudence, a five-year course and forty-six students. The Faculty
of Political Science, a three-year course and twenty-four students. The
Section of Natural Science, a three-year course and nine students. The
total income for the year is in the neighborhood of $10,000. Of this the
Government gives $5500, and the rest is made up largely of students’
fees. One source of revenue for 1907 was $40 in fines levied on the
members of the Faculty, “for failing to attend their classes and for
other acts”!
The question of the education of South American youth is an interesting
one. The opinion of the majority of British residents has been well
expressed by an English mining engineer who has recently published a
book on Peru. He says: “The Spanish-American youth educated in the
United States, is not a happy product. London is the real home for the
cosmopolitan refinement suited to their character”!
South American institutions of learning are built on such different
lines from those in the United States that it seems to me extremely
unlikely that a large number of students from South America will ever
come to American universities. Ought we to do anything to encourage more
to come? Spanish-Americans now studying in the States are devoting their
attention chiefly to engineering and dentistry. Very few South Americans
are likely to care for our academic or collegiate course or anything
corresponding to it. It does not fit in at all with their customary
scheme of education. To the average South American, a “college” means a
kind of high school from which a student graduates to enter at once upon
his professional studies. At first glance it looks like the familiar
German idea of a gymnasium course followed immediately by professional
studies in the university. But it would be unfair both to the gymnasium
and the _colegio_ to place their curriculum in parallel columns.
A large number of physicians in South America claim to have studied in
Paris. The dentists usually advertise the fact that they were educated
in Philadelphia or New York. Lawyers rarely ever receive any special
training outside of the local university. On the other hand, while a
large percentage of the native civil engineers are trained in the local
engineering schools, a very considerable number have studied abroad. It
is a generally recognized fact in South America, outside of Argentina
and Chile, that the best engineers are Americans.
On the whole I am not disposed to agree with those who disparage
American training for Latin-American youth. I am inclined to believe
that it increases their efficiency more than the “cosmopolitan
refinement” of London.