In Buenos Ayres, though a town of fully sixty thousand inhabitants,
nearly every body of any pretensions knows every other body, either by
sight, by report, or nodding acquaintanceship. Society may be divided
into English, French, and native, or Spanish. Among the English we
comprise the British, Americans, Germans, Danes, and Swedes--in fact,
all the Anglo-Saxon family, (without excluding therefrom the Irish,) as
they can all speak English, and are somewhat allied in character,
pursuits, and political relationship. The French and Italians, again,
resemble each other more than they do the above.
The visiting and visitable part of the native community, form a most
interesting and agreeable feature in Buenos-Ayrean society. Thanks to
civil wars, and to Rosas, the females vastly preponderate in numbers
over the males. You may visit five or six families, and meet five or six
ladies in each, and not a single gentleman; partly from the reasons we
have given above, and partly because to ladies appear exclusively to be
allotted the duties of ceremonial reception--husbands and brothers, if
there be any, remaining in their studies, or back rooms, even when the
sala, or reception room, is crowded with visitors or a small evening
party. Oh, how pleasant and agreeable are these Senoras, and Senoritas!
how sweetly they help you out with a sentence when you are at a loss!
how freely they suggest subjects of conversation! how good-humouredly
they smile at your awkward mistakes, and make you fancy that you will
soon be a perfect proficient in Spanish--as indeed you soon would be
under their tuition; how soon you forget that you have never seen them
before! how soon you learn to suck _matte_, and to pay compliments! and
when you are about to leave, and a flower is agreeably presented to you
by a smiling Senorita, with an assurance that the house and every thing
in it is entirely at your disposal, you bow your way out with a
profusion of promises to return, with a rose at your button-hole, a
smile on the face, and an elasticity of step that will last half the
day. Oh, Tom Thorne! Tom Thorne! how could you resist so many dimpling
smiles and sweet compliments? How could you flirt away the forenoons in
the circles of beauty, look the language, breathe the gay atmosphere,
reflect the glad glances, enjoy the warm enlivening glow of youthful
feelings, bask in the sunshine of favour streaming upon you from the
eyes of youth, innocence, and beauty, and then cool down your feelings
with cigars and brandy?
But we are forgetting our subject. Among each of the great national
families we have classed together, there were particular sets and
circles, out of which many would seldom or never move, while some would
be nearly equally familiar with all: and this mixture of different
nations, tinctured with a dash of republicanism, gives a tone of
metropolitan urbanity and courtesy to Buenos-Ayrean society, which is
very agreeable. All being dependent on their own exertions, there can be
little affectation of superiority; and all being occupied through the
day, they are the more inclined to relax into the agreeable in the
evening: and perhaps there are few places under the sun where there are
more or merrier evening reunions than there were in the city of Buenos
Ayres before the blasting tyranny of Rosas decimated the natives, made
fathers suspicious of sons, brothers spies upon brothers, Frenchmen arm
themselves for mutual protection, Englishmen almost afraid of the name,
and banished wealth and security from the province.
The sala of Senora Tertulia was brilliantly lighted up and brilliantly
filled with youth and beauty; the atmosphere was loaded with rich
perfumes from the gay and gaudy festoons that adorned the massy
chandeliers, and from the sweet little bouquets that heaved on the
bosoms of the fair dancers. Knights of every order of chivalry were
strutting through the room. Priests were listening to innocent
confessions. Don Juans were whispering sweet compliments into willing
ears. Dominoes were playing at cards with Italian Counts. Turks were
drinking the firewaters of the Franks at side-tables. Gauchos were there
rigged out in all the finery of the Pampas; and every masquerade-shop in
the town had been ransacked by those whose wit could not supply, or
whose means could not afford new or appropriate costumes. And so there
was a fair proportion of clowns, harlequins, starved apothecaries, and
Highlanders with cotton drawers. Many old gentlemen with the long
ruffles, the broad skirts, powdered wigs, and jockey looking waistcoats
of the sixteenth century, were seen bowing, scraping, and taking snuff:
in fine, every one either was or ought to have been enjoying himself.
The music struck up, and off they went.
A quadrille had just finished. Lords wore handing dames and ladies fair
to their seats, which the polite old gentlemen of the sixteenth century
vacated for them; that short interregnum was commencing in which young
ladies study attitudes and young gentlemen compliments, when a scream of
surprise and a loud roar of laughter at one of the doors of entrance
attracted the attention of all. There appeared to be a struggle for
admission on one part and a dubious attempt at exclusion on the other.
The lady of the house hurried to the spot; a card was secretly shown to
her; and the cloud of doubt that hung over her brow at the first sight
of the strange spectacle before her was exchanged in a moment for the
warm sunshine of a kindly welcome. “Walk in, pray--walk in, Mr Bruin,”
and a tall slim figure in a strange dress, the front of which was
buttoned behind, with a mask on the back of his head, and long hair
streaming all over his face so as completely to conceal his features,
led into the room a great white bear. The conductor carried a huge high
baton, surmounted by a garland of flowers; and the neck of Bruin was
attached to the baton by a chain of the same materials. The Bear and his
conductor soon became the centre of attraction.
“Now, Mr Brain, show the ladies how you can dance, sir;” and the shaggy
hero stumped on his huge hind paws, shook his head and his tail, and
dangled his fore flippers, to the admiration of all.
“Now for a waltz, Mr Bruin.”
“Bur wur hough,” growled the bear in guttural accents, very like German.
“Mr Bruin says he must have a partner,” drawled the conductor from the
back of his head; and Bruin, clutching the garland of flowers from the
top of the pole, stumped round the circle of fair by-standers, with the
view apparently of suiting his fancy.
“I presume, Mr Bruin, you are dazzled with such a galaxy of bright
star-like eyes,” said a wag.
“Bur wur hur ough,” growled Bruin.
“They remind him of the Aurora Borealis, in the North Seas,” was the
interpretation given out from the back of the head.
“I suppose you are a great traveller, Bruin,” demanded another querist.
“Wur bur ough hur.”
“He accompanied Sir John Ross in his polar expeditions,” was the
response.
By this time every one enjoyed the humour of the conceit; and when Bruin
placed the garland of flowers on the brow of Anita Mendoza, the belle of
the ball-room, it was not ungraciously received by the blushing beauty,
and raptures of applause approved the selection.
“You show a very fair taste, Mr Bruin,” said the smiling landlady.
“We represent Beauty and the Beast of the nursery tale,” was the meaning
of the bur wur of the response.
“Can I offer you any thing to eat or drink?” demanded the landlady.
“Mr Bruin will trouble you for an ice and a young sea unicorn,” replied
the transposed conductor.
“I hope you won’t eat any of us, Mr Bruin,” said one of the ring.
“He would rather hug his partner than worry puppies,” was the ready
rejoinder.
“When did you meet your great father-in-law, Dr Johnson, ursa major?”
asked a would-be wit.
“Mr Bruin desires me to give you a pot of his grease to make your
whiskers grow,” said the conductor, handing an elegant little bear’s
grease pot out of the pouch that hung by Bruin’s side.
“Give me one! give me one!” shouted a number of ladies at the same time.
“For a hug a-piece,” shouted the bear in _propria persona_, forgetting
his disguise.
“It is Tom Thorne! ’tis Mr Thorne!” shouted out a number of voices; and
the bear was soon patted, caressed, and rifled of all the contents of
his pouch by the fair triflers, no longer afraid of a hug from bear like
Tom Thorne. Amid the fun and merriment created by this incident, a smart
explosion was heard, followed by wreaths of aromatic smoke from pastiles
ignited by the explosion caused by opening the elegant little grease pot
given to the beardless youth. The proprietress of every one of Bruin’s
little presents now became a heroine.
Great was the curiosity displayed to know the contents, and great was
the glee and satisfaction as curious little devices or bonbons, wrapped
up in love-verses, were extracted from the elegant little receptacles;
and not till the music struck up, and Bruin led Anita Mendoza as his
partner to the head of the country-dance, was the usual routine of the
ball room resumed. All pretensions to etiquette had vanished; and
good-humour, mirth, and jollity reigned triumphant throughout the
evening. Many thought Bruin’s lot not only bearable but even enviable,
judging from the easy and smiling reception with which his attentions
were welcomed by courtly lady and stately dame. The supper that followed
was as merry as the dance; and our hero, divesting himself of his
bearish accoutrements, was as much the source of amusement in the
supper-room by his jokes as in the ball-room by his tricks. Refreshing
himself with copious draughts of champagne, he appeared to find no
difficulty whatever in allaying hunger in the absence of young unicorns.
But the merriest night must have a close, and the clearest head will get
dizzy under the influence of champagne; and Tom, finding himself
unusually excited, and unwilling to detract from the éclat of his
previous debout, slid unperceived out of the room.