Le Merced church for protection from his opponent, who followed, and
beat him under the very robes of the priest; a guard was called, and
the offender taken into custody. Having an excellent character, he was
liberated from prison on bail; and the affair ended in an expensive law
suit. Some years back, he would have been severely punished for his
inconsiderate conduct.
Some of the friars are handsome men: I have remarked one of them a
counterpart of Young the actor. Their dress, shaven crown, and dark
hair, added much to their appearance: the ugly attire they now wear, is
a sad drawback. In my casual rencontres with them, I ever found them
polite and attentive, effacing that diffidence which a stranger feels in
venturing upon their hallowed precincts. The inquisition has never been
established in Buenos Ayres; but I have often been cruel enough to
fancy, that such and such a priest had a countenance like an inquisitor.
The suppression of the monasteries, in 1822, caused a great deal of
discussion. There were those of the well-inclined who were not without
apprehensions, and seemed disposed to let the presumed evil continue,
rather than risk a change. The government must have felt their own
strength, when they determined to reform so influential a portion of the
church, having to encounter the prejudices and fanaticism of those grown
grey in the old order of things, who regarded meddling with the church
as little short of heresy. The friars were, in a manner, domesticated
with the first families of Buenos Ayres, and ever received as welcome
guests. They must (at least, some of them) have felt great reluctance
to quit the convents, in which they had expected to remain for life,
and regret at parting with the attire of their order. Discontent was
engendered, at times, almost amounting to threats, which found vent in a
conspiracy, ending in the banishment of Taglé, its author; and another
more serious one, of the 19th March, 1823. The result of these abortive
attempts served to confirm the power and influence of the existing
government. The majority of the people, I should conceive, thought an
alteration necessary in the clergy: many of that majority had visited
Europe, and became divested of the narrow policy the Spaniards had
taught them.
Elderly ladies, of all countries, are allowed to be more pious than the
rest of society. The friars in Buenos Ayres found them staunch advocates
of their cause.
To counteract the strong feeling that existed for the friars, the
press of the day had recourse to ridicule, as well as to argument:
a publication called the "_Llobera_," teemed with paragraphs and
anecdotes, often so indecent that it injured the cause it proposed to
serve. This print was soon laid aside. In the mean time, the suppression
gradually went on; and all that now remains of the monasteries of Buenos
Ayres are the Franciscans. The buildings will soon perhaps be converted
to other uses. The ejected friars, throwing off their habit, assumed
a clerical half-dress, very similar to that of our clergymen; and the
Dominicans, Mercedites, &c. are now met in the streets, as simple
citizens, no longer wearing the livery of the founders of those orders.
Three years ago, groupes of friars were continually about the church
doors, in coffee-houses, and the streets, segar smoking, apparently
under no church restrictions: when a reform was agitated, they were
more strict, and the convent gates were closed at a certain hour. The
Franciscans, who yet keep together, are rarely to be seen abroad, except
the messengers, or lay brothers, who are, in dress and figure, no bad
copy of their prototype, in _The Duenna_.
If the original rules of monastic institutions were put in full force,
few claimants would be found for the honour of entering them. A suitable
provision has been made for those who have left their convents; the
government appropriating the lands attached for the benefit of the
state. Time appears, in some measure, to have healed the wounds of the
discontented, though there are some who pretend the flame is smothered,
and not burnt out; "Give it vent," they say, "and 'twill blaze again."
There are two convents for NUNS, St. Juan and St. Catalina, each
containing about thirty. The regulations of St. Juan's are very rigid:
they wear clothing of the coarsest nature, and the beds, and every other
accommodation, are of the same description. No one is permitted to see
them, except their nearest relations, and that very rarely. Heavens! how
ardent must be that devotion, that can voluntarily embrace such a life!
A female, on her first entrance, may leave at the end of a year; but,
after that time, she is professed, and must conform to the rules. Very
few, I believe, take advantage of this option. Such is the force of
religious enthusiasm, that they gladly bid farewell to the world,
wishing no father, mother, lover, friend, but their God and Saviour.
At St. Catalina's they are not so strict, being allowed indulgences
unknown to the self-immolated of St. Juan.
I have never seen any of the fair inhabitants of these convents; but
when the nuns of Buenos Ayres have formed the subject of conversation, I
have eagerly listened, expecting to hear something of disappointed love,
or confidence betrayed. Alas it was in vain: the ladies of St. Juan and
Catalina are nuns from the dull routine of religion, with one exception
only, if my information is true; and advantage was not taken to quiz
my avidity for nunnery news. The tale runs, that St. Juan's convent
does contain, a victim of "despised love." Her lover, an officer, of
course--for what men in trade ever think of love?--joined the army
in Peru, and married another. At the age of seventeen, the fair,
betrayed girl fearlessly took the veil, chiding her weeping mother
for her cruelty, nay, sinfulness, at shewing such affliction for what
constituted her daughter's only happiness. An account of the ceremony
was given me;--but who shall take the field in description, after the
glowing details we have read in romances? and especially at second-hand.
The majority of the nuns in these two convents are aged, having received
very few additions, lately, of the youthful class. Has man, false man,
become more constant, no longer striving to break the heart of the
doting fair one or, are the ladies less sensitive, preferring, at all
hazards, this bustling world to the cloister's gloom, exclaiming with
Sheridan's _Clara_,
"Adieu, thou dreary pile, where never dies
"The sullen echo of repentant sighs!"
In the most minute affairs of the Romish church, there is a formula,
which, having antiquity for its basis, imposes upon the mind of its
followers; and, as regards a conventual life, the first dawn of such a
wish, even before the parties quit their parents' house, amounts to a
ceremony. In the year 1822, my curiosity was gratified by an exhibition
of this sort. I was invited to a house, in which a lady, about to become
a nun, was receiving the last farewells of her friends. It was evening;
and it was with difficulty that I gained admittance from the crowd
outside. The lady was seated in the _sala_; arrayed in her best attire;
her head and neck decorated with jewellery; such is the fashion, this
being a contrast to the dress she was about to assume. Music was heard;
and it seemed more like a party met for gaiety, than one in which
the afterpiece was to be so serious--the taking from the world a
fellow-creature. The lady--I was going to write, victim--was all smiles;
no regrets were apparent in her bosom; she received the adieus of her
friends with calm composure. A friar, attached perhaps to the convent,
was in the room: in taking her final leave, she was escorted by him and
her relatives. With a firm step, bowing to all around, she quitted the
room. In passing our party (consisting of several Englishmen), I thought
she eyed us particularly; we bowed to her; and the door closed upon us.
That same night, I am informed, she was conducted to the gloomy walls of
St. Juan, and has since taken the veil. The lady appeared about nineteen
or twenty years of age; she was not handsome, but the occasion rendered
her very interesting.
The first RELIGIOUS PROCESSION I had ever seen, was that of St. Rosario,
in Buenos Ayres; and it is not possible I can forget the impression it
made upon me. Those details which, when a school-boy, I dwelt upon with
such delight, were now, in my manhood, brought full before my eyes,
losing nothing of their interest; on the contrary, I found that
imagination does not always come up to the reality. The churches of
France and Belgium I had visited with far different emotions: Spain, and
Spanish connexions, thought I, contain all that can fix the attention of
the Protestant inquirer, who wishes to see the Catholic church the same
in the nineteenth as in the fourteenth century. Spain clings to it; with
its many imperfections, as a fond lover to an idolized mistress; else
they would not have suffered foreigners to overrun their soil. What
would the heroes of Roncevalles and Pavia have said to those events?
The figure of St. Rosario, full-robed, was carried by soldiers, on a
stage. The Virgin, on another stage, followed, flanked by numbers of the
faithful carrying large lighted candles; these were chiefly old men,
and boys. The host, and attendant priests wafting incense towards
this sacred emblem, formed a conspicuous part; with groups of friars
chaunting their prayers, in which they are joined by the crowd. A huge
cross, apparently of silver, and borne by friars, precedes the whole.
A small band of violinists attend, and accompany the singing: they
reminded me of our itinerant musicians, that serenade us of an evening
in London. The military band has a better effect. A halt is made, at
intervals, at the corners of streets, or opposite temporary altars,
which the devotion of the pious has raised in front of their houses:
they consist of tables, covered with white linen, with small images of
Jesus, the Virgin, crosses, &c. &c. and a mirror, garnished with flowers
and other decorations. Soldiers march in front and rear. They, as well
as every one else near the procession, are uncovered; and when the
ceremonies of the host are going on, all must kneel. The houses display
silks, tapestry, and other finery, arranged in front, in the streets
through which the cavalcade passes; and the balconies are filled with
spectators. The saints and his dumb attendants (the images), are finally
deposited at their head-quarters, the church. A great quantity of
females are always to be seen at those exhibitions, fervently
ejaculating their "Ave-Marias."
These processions vary but very little, except that I thought there was
more of preparation, banners, &c. in that of St. Nicholas, on the 6th
December. The streets were profusely adorned, road and foot-path strewed
with flowers, leaves, and boughs. Small cannon were placed on the
pavement near the church, the firing of which, and the discharge of
rockets and other fire-works, gave notice that the saint and his holy
attendants were about to leave the church. Gentlemen, both civil
and military, of the first families, at times, bear banners in the
procession. These days being kept as holidays, a vast concourse stroll
about the decorated streets before the attraction of the day begins. The
windows, house-tops, and benches ranged near the houses, are occupied by
females, the lovely persons of some of whom might move an anchorite. A
scene so new has almost upset my sober reasoning; and I have looked at
the host, friars, crosses, music, and all the et ceteras, till I could
nearly fancy that time had rolled back, and found me living when the
Catholic church knew no rival.
The feast of St. Nicholas, in December, 1824, was but a mockery of its
former splendour: however, the church of San Nicholas was illuminated,
and looked very pretty; and we had some bonfires, music, and fire-works.
A procession was to have taken place, but the government would not pay
the expense, and the church, in its present reduced state, cannot afford
it. The devotees muttered their Ave-Marias and maledictions; but, as St.
Nicholas did not interfere in their behalf, all went off quietly.
The feast of Corpus Christi is another grand day. The whole body of
friars, with banners and flags of their different orders, mustered on
the occasion, and, before the suppression of the monasteries, they
constituted a decent battalion. The dress of the friars differs in
nothing to what we find represented in England,--the cowl and crown,
with the small cross suspended. The processions, in the course of the
year, used to be very numerous. Since the dispersion of the friars, they
are somewhat shorn of their beams; and, by-and-by, the sight of a friar
may be a curiosity. To decorate the churches on these occasions, the
priests borrow candlesticks, silks, &c. of their neighbours.
During Lent, sermons are preached on an evening, in various churches.
The congregations are numerous, and the females always kneel. The custom
of allowing males to be seated in church, while the other sex are upon
their knees, appears strange.
As the theatre is situated opposite the Merced church, during the
sermons of the Lent evenings, some of the congregation may be seen
wandering from the church to the theatre.
In passion week, there are various masses and sermons.
The afternoon and evening of Holy Thursday bring forth all the world
into the streets: every house appears deserted. The concourse is
astonishing: the great proportion are females. A rule of Catholic
creed enjoins them to visit seven churches on this day; and this they
religiously perform, stopping but a few minutes in each church, just
time enough to kneel, and utter a short prayer. The governor and his
aides-de-camp, likewise, go to seven churches. A crowd of both sexes
assemble round the doors, especially of the Cathedral, absolutely
blocking up the road way, kneeling, counting beads, and in earnest
prayer.
In 1821, I saw images and other insignia of the church at the corners of
the principal streets; prisoners ironed, with their guards, soliciting
charity; small tables, with virgins, Jesus, and crosses: but these
customs have much fallen off. Near a church, those altars are still
raised on Holy Thursday, and people press around, to kiss the garments
of the "mother of God." Near St. Juan's church, in 1824, I observed a
pretty design of this nature upon a small scale, and envied the kisses
it received from some charming girls. On this night, too, the military
bands muster in their best dresses, with drums muffled, and other marks
of mourning. They advance across the Plaza, and through the streets, at
a solemn pace, playing music even more melancholy than the Dead March
in Saul, preceded by one of the soldiers carrying, on a pole, a balloon
with transparencies, and a light inside, which makes them look a
counterpart of those that paraded London streets, a few years ago, from
the lottery offices. During this period of mourning, both sexes are
clothed in black. This continual crowd in the streets, and the peculiar
church attire, serve to attract one's attention; it is so much the
reverse of our English mode: we go to church in all the colours of the
rainbow.
In addition to other observances of Holy Thursday the flags of vessels
belonging to Catholic nations are half-masted, yards crossed, and at the
Fort, likewise, they remain till near twelve o'clock on the Saturday, at
which hour cannon are fired, yards squared, the flag run up, bells rung,
and shops are opened, for the joyful resurrection. But the bells do not
give us those inspiring peals that we hear from our churches of St.
Martin's, St. Clement's, and from the far-famed Bow bells: here, they
are an inharmonious jangle. Our churches, so superb in architectural
splendour, would astonish those gentlemen who fancy an Englishman's
taste only leads him towards vending merchandize, and receiving the
proceeds.
Good Friday passes as a solemn day of prayer and mourning.
The burning of Judas is a grotesque affair. Stuffed figures, like our
old Guys, are suspended from ropes in the middle of the street, charged
with combustibles and fire-works. On the night of Saturday, they are
fired, and Mr. Judas is blown up, amidst the shouts of the multitude.
This, like our Guy Fawkes, has much fallen off, and may soon drop
altogether. The newspapers have designated it barbarism. I am not for
meddling with the sports of the lower orders, if they do not offend
decency. The quarrel with Captain O'Brien happened about Easter, 1821;
and one of the Judases of that period was observed in something of the
dress of a naval officer: report said, it was meant for Captain O'Brien.
It was ordered to be taken down. The people took very little interest
in that dispute. When it was at its height, the Captain passed through
a crowd opposite the College church, and they treated him with great
respect, making way for the "English Commandant" to pass. "We may all
suffer in this business," said our captain to one of his countrymen;
"but we shall, if extremes are resorted to, be gloriously revenged."
The holy or passion week in 1825 passed off much as usual. On the
Thursday evening the ladies crowded the churches and streets in their
black attire; and being a fine moonlight night, the scene (to me at
least) was very interesting; and although I did not follow the custom
of visiting seven churches on this evening, I went to four. At the
Cathedral I remained a considerable time, listening to the music of the
vespers. The fine bass voice of Friar Juan was sadly missed. He was
banished for being concerned in the conspiracy of the 19th March, 1823.
Valentin Gomez, one of the canons of the church, sat in full pontifical
robes. Some of the Spaniards were jesting, in the church, upon his
portly appearance, so different from the figure he cut at nearly the
same period last year, when shipwrecked upon the English bank in the
river Plate. I felt much impressed with my visit to the Cathedral: every
thing combined to make me so;--the music, lights, and glittering altars,
with the prostrate females attended by their slaves and servants.
The sermons at the churches, on the evenings of Lent, were well
attended. The friar who preached at the church of Le Merced always
attracted great crowds. At the porch of this church was placed an image
of Christ, as large as life, in the act of being scourged; many devout
females kissed the ropes which tied the wrists of the image.
Till late in the evening of Holy Thursday, people were kneeling before
the church doors, counting beads, and saying their Ave-Marias. At nine
o'clock at night, three military bands of music, of the artillery,
Caçadores, and Legion de la Patria, each preceded by the globe, or
balloon, with transparencies, carried upon a pole, entered the Plaza
with drums muffled, and playing solemn airs. The artillery band was
much admired; Masoni, and other professors, performed in it. I followed
two of the bands to their barracks, at the Retiro. The night was lovely;
and it was late ere I returned home, my thoughts entirely absorbed in
the scenes of the day.
On the afternoon of Good Friday, the mass at the cathedral was well
attended.
The custom of burning Judas has fallen off. On the Saturday, this year,
the rain fell in torrents; but, a few nights after, Judas was burnt near
the Victoria coffee-house, amidst fire-works and music.
Another great object of attention to us Protestants is the Holy Ghost
proceeding through the streets, to administer the last offices of
religion to those who are presumed to be in a dying state. The holy
father, and one attendant, both richly attired, are seated in a coach
drawn by white mules. They go at a walking pace, with a few soldiers for
escort; negresses, boys, and others, carrying lighted lanterns, both by
night and day. A bell warns passengers of its approach, when all within
view must be uncovered, and, when they are near the carriage, kneel.
This last operation, not being very agreeable in dirty weather,
foreigners try to avoid his holiness altogether, by going up other
streets. Equestrians descend from their horses, and kneel. At night,
lights are placed in the windows of the houses they pass, and their
inmates kneel. Why do you kneel? said I, to a slave boy, at a house in
which I resided. "Because God is in the coach," he replied. A brutal
soldier, of the escort, once knocked an Englishman down, for not
kneeling in time. The magistrates took cognizance of it; and, I hear,
that strangers are not now obliged to kneel, though common respect will
always teach them to be uncovered. In passing the guardhouses, the
guards turn out, drums are beat, &c. They have now a large bell,
the small one having been mistaken for those belonging to the
water carts:[29] a Londoner might mistake it for the bell of the
six-o'clock-afternoon postman.
[29] Carts, with a bell affixed, go about the streets vending water.
The city is but ill provided with water, that in the river being
considered unwholesome. Mr. Bevans, the engineer, has sunk the ground
at the Recolator to a great depth, for the purpose of forming a well
to supply the town with water. The work still goes on; but, hitherto,
the desired water is not to be found.
Great veneration is paid to all that concerns this ceremony of the Holy
Ghost: the very mules, it is said, were formerly looked upon as sacred.
In passing coffee-houses, billiard-players, and gamblers of all
descriptions, leave their profane games, to kneel. At the theatre, the
performance is stopped; actors and actresses kneel on the stage, and the
audience upon their seats. I have several times been present at scenes
of this sort, and regarded them with great curiosity; though I have been
very angry with the holy father, and impious enough to wish he had taken
another route. I recollect, during an opera, one evening, the cavalcade
passed no less than three times, and interrupted a delightful duet
between Rosquellas and Señora Tani.
The summer of 1824-5, judging from the frequent appearance of the Holy
Ghost in the streets, must have been rather a sickly one. Great respect
is still paid to this holy visitant, who generally selects the evening
to pay his visits. A smile will now and then take place, when the
procession suddenly appears in a crowded neighbourhood, forcing all to
bend the knee. The contrast of such Catholic customs with those of our
sober England often occurs to me.
I am informed that great preparations take place in the sick chamber,
where the sacrament is to be given. I do not admire this. The patient,
enfeebled by disease, concludes there is no hope left; and often yields
to despair. In England, on such occasions, a clergyman comes without
pomp or attendants: his attentions are more like those of a friend, and
he insensibly prepares the mind of the sufferer for the purposes of his
visit. But we have much to correct in the dismal funeral bell, closing
shops and windows, usual with us at burials. Life hourly presents enough
to remind us of death, without those auxiliaries.
* * * * *
FUNERAL CEREMONIES.--The room in which a corpse is deposited is lighted;
large candles are placed round the coffin; and the wainscoting, tables,
&c. are covered with white furniture, crosses, &c. The windows are often
thrown open, for passengers to view the scene of death, as a warning
that "to this complexion we must come at last." I remember my surprise
on first seeing a spectacle of this sort. The corpse of a female about
thirty lay shrouded in her coffin, the lid of which was taken off, with
her hands folded over her breast, and a small cross placed between them.
The gaudy coffin, and the lights around it, gave it the appearance of
wax work; indeed, I had an impression that it was so, for some minutes,
not being aware of the country's fashion in this affair.