_Panama_
When the present city of Panama was founded in 1673, its architects and
builders in laying out the new town fixed its location up the rocky
peninsula which juts out into the sea at the foot of Ancon hill. They
had a vivid recollection of the fate that had overtaken the old city,
and were determined that the new one should offer a more formidable
front to any invading foe, and so strongly fortified was the new city
that with the exception of Cartagena it was the most impregnable
fortress in the whole of South America. Shortly after the city was
founded it became the capital of Terra Firma, and it was hoped by the
founders that the surrounding provinces of Panama, Darien, and Veragua
would contribute largely to its importance and support. But the Indians
of the Darien province, regaining their independence, became
uncontrollable, and the gold mines in the other provinces proved, after
extended trials, to be unremunerative, so that the new city was
dependent chiefly upon the pearl fisheries, which are to this day of
considerable importance to it. The pearls of Panama are of fine quality
and remarkable size, and although the fashions of different ages have
undergone changes with regard to jewels, the fisheries have, in spite of
the increasing popularity of diamonds, been able to hold their own by
opening up new markets in Peru and Southern America. The real reason,
however, of the importance of the new city was the unique position it
occupied. It rapidly became the market for the products of the rich
countries on the Pacific coast, and fleets of small sailing craft were
ever arriving at the port laden with valuable merchandise. Great stores
were built for the reception of the goods until the mule trains were
ready to convey them across the isthmus, _en route_ for Spain. Many of
the older buildings are now in ruins, but what
[Illustration: OUTSIDE A CHURCH ON CHRISTMAS EVE, PANAMA.]
remains affords ample evidence of the city’s former splendour. With the
decay of piracy the necessity of keeping up the earlier standards of
resistance ceased and many of the older buildings were allowed to fall
into decay. Even the old city wall has dwindled until only a portion
about a quarter of a mile in length remains. This is a favourite
playground of the children, and when the sun is setting, the older
people of the poorer classes rest upon the worn-out benches that project
from the stone parapets, enjoying the cooling breezes that evening
brings. Legend has it that Philip V of Spain was observed by his
courtiers gazing into the distance that lay in the direction of the new
colonies, and when one of his ministers asked him what he strained his
eyes to behold, the King, with a merry twinkle in his eye, replied that
“he was trying to discern the walls of Panama, for they had cost so
much, that surely they must be visible even from Spain.” The whole of
the old town is built of stone quarried from the volcanic rocks in the
vicinity; the walls of most of the buildings are from three to four feet
in thickness, with the windows placed high up from the ground; the thick
doors are plentifully studded with huge nails, and bound by stout iron
bands. The cathedrals and churches are massive and liberally supplied
with heavy buttresses; in fact, they look more like fortresses than
places of worship; and there are so many of them that one might easily
fall into the error of believing that the founders of the city and early
inhabitants were a very religious community. There is one church in the
Calle San José that I visited frequently during the heat of the day, the
cool shade it afforded was a welcome contrast to the hot glare of the
streets; and although I have been in it many times, I never saw more
than two or, at the most, three persons in it at the same time. It has
an earthy smell, and is damp, cool, and fusty. Round the edifice altars
stand out in harsh relief from the austere whitewashed walls. Carved
figures of saints draped in dusty raiment that was once brilliant gave
the place an aspect of a cheap waxworks. The small windows high up in
the walls let in a silvery light that diffused itself through the
interior. The pews or forms arranged down the centre of the aisle were
in the last stages of decay, so frail and rotten that they could not
support any substantial weight. Occasionally a negress with a
bright-coloured turban and long, trailing gown would sail into the gloom
and glide noiselessly up to one of the many altars, in front of which
she would kneel and stare about as if bewildered. But I was generally
alone in the great building, sometimes catching glimpses of the aged
priest, who, with robes tucked up, was occupied in sweeping the damp,
stone floor, a pathetic reminder of the waning power of Holy Church in
the city. At Christmas time there is created in this church a huge
[Illustration: THE FLAT ARCH OF ST. DOMINIC.]
toy-like representation of the Nativity, with small dolls crudely
suggesting the shepherds and the Magi visiting the manger. A great array
of candles are set in front and all around the tawdry show, and all day
long crowds of the poorer classes stand gazing spellbound at the marvel.
All the other churches in the city have some similar exhibition during
Christmas week, and the crowds go from one to another, eager to see all
they can for nothing. The church of La Merced, which stands in the Calle
Real, in what used to be the extreme limit of the city, is built from
the materials gathered at the ruins of the old church of the same name
that stood in the ancient city of Panama. The church stands at a street
corner, and on the left of the main entrance, occupying the corner of
the building, is a small chapel, some sixteen feet square, with a door
from either street. At all times some worshipper is to be found inside
this little sanctuary, for so conveniently situated is it that
passers-by have only to step a few feet out of their way to be within
its walls. Women with great bundles on their heads step in, cross
themselves, mutter a word or two, and are not detained more than a few
seconds by their devotions; whilst the man of business and small urchins
rush through one door and out at the other, to save the turning at the
corner of the street. The oldest church in the city, that of San Felipi
Nevi, has the date “1688” carved on a shield above its entrance, but the
more modern buildings that have sprung up around it almost hide it from
view. Its walls are about five feet in thickness, which doubtless
accounts for it still standing. The cathedral in the Central Plaza, the
largest building in the city, is in a very good state of repair, and is
generally well attended. It has two lofty towers surmounted with conical
domes covered with oyster-shells, which glisten and sparkle in the sun.
The front of the church is richly moulded and faced with flat, fluted,
and engaged columns. In the niches sculptured figures representing the
twelve apostles are placed, while at the top, in the centre, is placed
an effigy of the Virgin. The whole building is painted over with a
disagreeable colour-wash of saffron hue, an act of vandalism that could
only occur in a country that pays little or no regard to the upkeep of
its public buildings. Another instance of the scant attention and regard
for ancient monuments can be seen in the ruins of the once noble church
of St. Dominic. The roof of this large building has long since
disappeared, probably during one of the numerous fires that have played
such havoc in the city. There remains, however, in this church a most
extraordinary specimen of building construction--a large arch of over
sixty feet span, near the principal entrance, has caused much discussion
amongst engineers and architects. It is practically flat, having no
other support than its terminal columns. How it has survived the
earthquake shocks that have from time to time visited the city is a
mystery. Some experts have pointed to it as evidence that no very
serious tremors can ever have taken place since it was built. But,
however this may be, it is certainly an ingenious piece of construction,
probably unique. A legend obtains currency amongst the better informed
natives to the effect that before success attended the labours of the
builders three failures befell them. On the last occasion the designer
of the arch
[Illustration: OLD HOUSES ON THE SEA WALL, PANAMA.]
stood underneath it and proclaimed it to be a sound piece of
construction if it did not fall upon him. It hardly needed the pious
architect to point out that something was indeed seriously wrong with
the work if it did fall and kill him. But silly legends abound in Latin
America as well as in other parts of the globe. The church of St.
Dominic must have had an imposing appearance in its early youth, for
even the ravages of time and weather have failed to rob it of
distinction, and the thick, tropical vegetation that now runs wild over
its crumbling walls suggests forcibly that nature is more anxious to
hide decay than man is to prevent it. The city has undergone many
changes since its birth, and the regular symmetrical design that was in
earlier times adhered to by its builders has been so modified and
altered by subsequent designers that it is with difficulty that we can
form an idea of its earlier aspect. Whenever fire and time have
destroyed buildings, no effort has been made to rebuild in the
substantial early manner. The old fortifications have nearly all
disappeared, and the city has grown far beyond the limits which they set
to its extension. Flimsy structures are now erected of timber framework
covered with plaster, and treated with a coat of whitewash. The sham is
rampant. How the shade of Ruskin would writhe in agony should it chance
in its wanderings to visit Panama, where stucco masquerades as stone. A
month or two at most of the varying climatic conditions of alternate
dry and damp heat and the most pretentious mansions present a
disreputable aspect. The colour schemes which are attempted by the
decorators are novel and discordant. The half-formed, undeveloped,
æsthetic sense of the Latin American is more amazing than the crudest
efforts in art of the rudest savages. A striking instance of perverted
colour sense was displayed by a prominent citizen during the memorable
visit of President Roosevelt. In honour of the unique occasion, this
enterprising gentleman caused the exterior of his house to be covered
with a hideous magenta water-wash, ornamental parts being picked out in
a canary yellow. The originality of this scheme attracted much
attention; and although the few judicious grieved, the masses were
delighted.