SKETCHES OF LIMA.
INCIDENTS OF THE ROAD.—THE GRAND PLAZA.—SHOPS AND HOUSES.—THE SAYA Y
MANTO.—AMERICAN LADY.—MIXTURE OF RACES.—DEMEANOR OF GIRLS AND
BOYS.—PROCESSION ON PALM SUNDAY.—CONVENT OF THE FRANCISCANS.—DOCTORS
OF LIMA.—GOOD FRIDAY.—THE LAST SUPPER.—PILATE’S COURT.—GARDEN OF
GETHSEMANE.—CLOSE OF LENT.—JUBILATIONS.—CLIMATE.—AN OFFICER IN
PRISON.—LAWYERS.—THE INDIAN’S EYRIE.—THE LOTTERY.—BULL-FIGHT.
In Lima’s streets a stranger stood,
Who wrapp’d his thoughts about him
So close, that they who watched his mood.
But deemed the place without him.
MONDAY, MARCH 30. We were off this morning at an early hour for Lima.
The distance is only seven miles, and is travelled by a line of
omnibuses, drawn by six horses, three abreast. Our companions were
lieutenants S. and L. of the Congress, two Peruvian officers, a Spanish
lady with a lapdog, a creole girl smoking a cigar, and a quadroon in
white-kid slippers.
We passed on the right an obelisk surmounted by a cross, designating the
spot to which the sea was thrown, in the great earthquake of 1746. A
little further on we passed the neglected dwellings of Bellavista,
projected as the new Callao, and built further inland, that it might
escape the terrible fate of its predecessor. But fear soon yielded to
the suggestions of commercial convenience, and Callao went back again to
the strand of the sea.
After dragging along for nearly an hour, with our old vehicle buried to
the axle in sand, we reached the halfway station, which consists of a
dilapidated church and a grog-shop. In the ruined turrets of the one the
martins had built their procreant nests; at the bar of the other stood a
bare-headed monk, soliciting the change which the glass of toddy might
leave. His large feet were protected by sandals, and his Roman nose was
so red that one of the passengers got out a cigar.
Having breathed our steeds, we started again, when a fierce quarrel
arose between the Spanish lady and her poodle. The little fellow had wet
her pocket-handkerchief, and had his ears soundly boxed for the
indiscretion. The quadroon took the part of the poodle, and the creole
girl smoked on. We now passed several huge tumuli—the burial mounds of
the aborigines. The heroic virtues which they entomb have perished. No
Homer has swept his lyre in their giant shadows. The road, as we
approached the city, presented on either side double rows of poplars,
beneath which the Limanians take their twilight promenade. But at this
time only a few donkeys were winding their way through them, buried up
in grass, which they were taking to market. You saw only the burden; the
animal was concealed under it, like a tortoise beneath its shell, or a
mouse under a crow’s nest.
We found at the gate a sentry posted with as much solemnity as if the
old bastion could still thunder out its defiance. We rattled up a broad
street into the heart of the city, where we were emptied from our crazy
coach into an office surrounded by boys, who vociferously claimed the
privilege of transporting our baggage. The urchins had hold of it before
we could even tell them where we were going. The lady with her repentant
poodle, and the creole with her cigar, went their way, and we brought up
at Morin’s hotel on the grand plaza. The keeper met us in the hall,
welcomed us to Lima, and allotted us our apartments. Here we were then
at last in the “city of kings,” and in the most sumptuous hotel which
its ambition and luxury could furnish. What a transition from the
storms, the sleet, and whales off Cape Horn!
TUESDAY, MARCH 31. The heart of Lima is occupied by a great public
square, in the centre of which stands a fountain, the showering waters
of which fall into a wide marble basin. Beneath the verandas which open
on this square are the fancy shops of the city, while the Cathedral
towers over all in its solemn magnificence. Around the fountain, instead
of marble statues, you find donkeys, waiting to have the tanks, which
are swung across their little pack-saddles, filled with water. As soon
as this has been done, off they start on their destination, without
leader or rein. For these two kegs of water the owner gets a real, or
twelve and a half cents. Thus is Lima supplied with water; when it might
be conducted by pipes through every street of the city.
In the shops, which line three sides of the grand square, are found
almost all the elegant products of art and mechanical ingenuity. The
long colonnades which protect them from the sun, are paved with smooth
pebbles, and are sufficiently wide for several persons to walk abreast.
Here you encounter, at all hours of the day, the indolent and the
active, the grave and the gay of Lima. A more motley crowd in color and
costume cannot well be conceived. The language of almost every nation on
the globe throws its peculiar accents on the ear. The poorest have on
them generally some article of luxury or refinement. The Spanish lady is
seen in her _saya y manto_; the mestizo in her gayly-figured shawl, and
the quadroon in her white-kid slippers.
WEDNESDAY, APRIL 1. Since the great earthquake of 1746, the houses in
Lima have generally been confined to one story. A few families of
wealth, who consulted their pride more than their personal safety, have
run their dwellings a little higher. The walls are uniformly of
sun-baked brick, and the roofs flat. The more pretending houses have an
open court between the heavy gate and the main building. The front of
the dwelling, with its fresco paintings, and gilded window-frames,
glimmering through the evergreens which fill the court, has a fine
effect; every thing looks inviting and cool, well suited to the
climate—but a dash of snow would ruin its attractions.
Almost every house betrays the Moorish origin of its architecture in its
veranda. This appendage resembles a long, capacious bird-cage, fastened
to the wall; it is composed of lattice-work, and is painted green. Here
the inmates can observe the passing crowd without being themselves seen.
But all the buildings in Lima have about them the evidences of decay.
Many of the mansions of the rich have passed into the hands of foreign
merchants, and are used as counting-houses; while others have been
converted into hotels and restaurants. Many families of distinction,
after the revolution, returned to Spain; and not a few of those who
remain are slowly exhausting the remnants of their once splendid
fortunes. A Spaniard with the most diluted drop of noble blood in his
veins, will about as soon starve as work. He regards labor as a
degradation.
[Illustration]
THURSDAY, APRIL 2. The novelty in costume, which first strikes the
stranger in Lima, is the _saya y manto_ of the ladies. At a distance
this dress looks like two petticoats; the one hanging down where all
petticoats should hang, and the other drawn up over the head, as if
lifted by a little whirlwind in mischief. But the lower garment proves
to be a rich silk skirt, so plaited and arranged as to betray the
swelling outline of the person and fall in wooing drapery around the
limbs, while the upper one combines the advantages of the hood and
mantle. It is fastened at the bottom within the band of the skirt, and
falls over this cincture in a flowing wreath; while the top is gathered
over the head and face, and so held by the hand within as to expose but
one eye. The disguise is complete; no husband could recognise his own
wife in such a dress.
The apology attempted for this dress is, that it enables a lady to go
out in the morning, to mass or shopping, before she has made her toilet.
The objections to it lie in the facilities which it lends to purposes of
a very different character. It veils a love intrigue from all but the
guilty. The jealous care of the husband, and the sleepless vigilance of
the duenna, are alike baffled by its impenetrable folds. With the young
it often paves the way to ruin and a life of crime. No virtuous
community would tolerate its presence for a moment. It has been
relinquished by some of the better families in Lima, and was once put
under the ban of a legislative statute; but it still survives, and is
still in extensive use. The Evil One, could such a thing be, might drop
tears over its fall.
How the heart turns from such a picture as this, to that of one whose
breathing features throw at this moment their unveiled sweetness on my
eye. Born in other climes, she blooms here in all her native modesty and
grace. There is an air about her, a delicacy, and a heart that speak the
truthfulness of her nature, and her freedom from those affectations
which vanity and a false taste induce. My Ariel, who loves these
qualities in woman, has thrown into a few simple stanzas a faint outline
of the original.
THE AMERICAN LADY.
She moves among us, but apart
From folly’s empty din;
The smile that lights her silent heart
Flows from a fount within.
The incense of the flatterer’s tongue,
Which each in turn may share,
She lightly deems as bubbles flung
Upon the empty air.
And when a flash of anger’s force
Would light resentment’s flame,
She only pities more the source
From which the menace came.
There’s not a throb which sorrow brings,
Or sigh of the oppress’d,
But pours its pulses o’er the strings
Which tremble in her breast.
There’s not a smile which hope bestows,
Or light in memory’s dream,
But o’er her changing aspect throws
Its warm reflected beam.
Her bright thoughts greet us as the rays
Of some sweet star at even,
Seen o’er the twilight’s misty haze,
Climbing the verge of heaven.
FRIDAY, APRIL 3. Slavery is near its extinction in Peru. No one can be
born a slave under its new constitution, and the introduction of slaves
from other provinces or states is prohibited under penalties which
involve a loss of citizenship for life. Any slave can obtain his freedom
for a few hundred dollars, or by taking refuge among the Indians who
inhabit the glens of the Cordilleras. It is unlawful for any master to
strike his slaves. If they misbehave, he can increase their task, but
cannot inflict corporal chastisement.
Nothing puzzles the stranger here so much as the singular mixture of
races. The Spaniard, the Indian, and the African run together like the
hues of the dying dolphin. It is impossible to tell where one color
ceases and the other begins. Even in the same family, complexions
frequently differ wide enough to embrace both extremes. The African in
other countries can be traced; but here, after a few generations, he
becomes so bleached by the climate that you lose sight of his origin.
Even his hair, that almost infallible indication, straightens out into
the texture of the European’s. Add to this the results of intermarriage,
and you may well be in doubt where to class him.
Some of the best-looking females in Lima are of this description. They
resemble in hue and form the Circassian, and would be regarded at
Constantinople as extremely beautiful. They are soft and engaging in
their manners, amiable in their dispositions, excel in music, and are
often married to gentlemen of distinction and wealth.
SATURDAY, APRIL 4. The college boys in Lima look like little military
captains. They strut about in cocked hats and laced coats; the sword
only is wanting. The last thing with which you would associate them
would be a severe ancient classic. You would as soon look for Greek
among the matadores at a bull-fight. Peru will produce no Porson while
these cocked hats and gilt buttons continue in vogue among the boys.
[Illustration]
But all the little boys belonging to families of note are dressed here
like gentlemen. Your first impression would be, that you had arrived
among a race of Lilliputians. But a closer observation shows you that
these little well-dressed gentlemen are infantines, let loose from their
nurses’ arms. They are but little more than knee-high; but wear, with
singular gravity, their black beaver hats and long-tailed coats.
The same holds true of the little miss of eight and nine. Her hair, of
singular length for that of a child, instead of falling in ringlets or
plaits, is done up with a comb like that of her mother’s. Her silk
dress, with its close bodice, depends gravely to the instep; her
mantilla falls down her shoulders with the precision of that of a nun;
while her hands and arms are adjusted with the utmost composure. Her
whole air is that of a lady over whom some thirty years have passed, and
she expects you to address her in the same respectful terms. She is the
pocket-edition of a precise spinster.
SUNDAY, APRIL 5. This being Palm Sunday, all Lima turned out to witness
a procession intended to convey an idea of the last entrance of our
Saviour into Jerusalem. On a platform, borne forward on the shoulders of
six stout men, stood a donkey, on which a wax figure was mounted, while
the staging was strewn with leaves of the palm. As it passed, hosannas
broke from the lips of the spectators.
On the staging which followed this, stood the Virgin, in glowing wax.
She wore a sparkling diadem, and a robe of purple velvet, gorgeously
inwoven with gold, and flowing off into a magnificent train, supported
by angels. As she passed, the crowd fell on their knees and whispered
their Ave Marias, while the swinging censers of the priests sent up
their curling cloud of homage.
The third and last staging supported a tree, high in the limbs of which
clung a little wax cherub, intended to represent Zaccheus. He was
looking down with an expression quite removed from one of reverential
curiosity. The children shouted, and it was as much as their mothers
could do to hush them into silence. Thus passed this religious pageant;
when the crowd broke up in much the same humor with which they would
leave their seats at a theatre. Were the historic symbols of our
religion intended to amuse mankind, this spectacle might possibly answer
its purpose. But here the awful reality so overpowers the
representation, that it cannot leave in the imagination even the
solemnity of a religious delusion.
MONDAY, APRIL 6. We visited to-day the Franciscan church and convent.
They cover seven acres of ground, and combine a degree of architectural
grandeur and cloisteral luxury singularly at variance with the mendicant
virtues of the fraternity to which they belong. The church, indeed, is
one of the most sumptuous in Lima, and showers its rich gilding upon you
from pavement to dome. In its niches, and over its altars repose
statues, on which art has bestowed the highest expressions of its
ambition.
In one of the altars we recognised St. Benedict, holding a black infant
Saviour in his arms. The existence of this representation has been
denied by a distinguished prelate of the Roman Catholic church in the
United States, but of its truth I have the testimony of my own eyes. The
idea originated, undoubtedly, in a wish to conciliate the African. Rome
becomes all things to all men, and I hope for the purpose of saving
some.
The convent has four hundred cloisters, which open on stately corridors
that circle around central courts, where fountains play among
evergreens, fruits, and flowers. Who would not gaze on a skull and a
life-glass only an hour or two a day to enjoy such a residence as this?
These gloomy emblems of our mortality might almost be forgotten in the
deathless bloom of the amaranth. Give me a monk for exigencies; he can
make solitude social, and convert a golgotha into a garden. He lives in
affluence without a ready penny, and is sainted without an active
virtue.
TUESDAY, APRIL 7. To die regularly in Lima the patient must be
admonished of his approaching end by his physician, and receive extreme
unction from his priest. The physician who should let his patient die
without this timely warning, would receive the severest censures of the
relatives of the deceased, and be required by the church to pay for
masses for the repose of his soul. He is consequently faithful in this
last sad office. With us the sick often die in glowing dreams of life.
The pale shadow flits before their glassing eyes, but is not seen.
The medical profession here, in dignity and respect, ranks far below the
pulpit, the bar, and the camp. It involves too many cares, too many
vigils, too many humble offices to suit the indolence and pride of the
Spaniard. It is consequently exercised mainly by those of African or
Indian descent, and a thankless office they have of it. If their patient
survives, it is ascribed to some miraculous intervention of the Virgin;
if he dies, it is attributed to an unpardonable want of skill: so that
between the imputed miracle in the one case and inevitable death in the
other, he gets but little credit for his professional sagacity. His only
resource in all critical cases is to call in half a dozen consulting
physicians, and share with them the responsibility of the issue. I
always pity a consulting physician; he must approve what has been done,
though in so doing he often gives the lie to the change of treatment
which he directs. But let that pass.
WEDNESDAY, APRIL 8. The great cathedral was crowded at an early hour
this morning to witness the ceremony of the “Banner.” As the organ
commenced a low, mournful air, a tall priest, robed in black, took his
station in front of the high altar, where he unfurled from its staff a
large sombre banner.
After having waved it for a few minutes in front of the lights on the
great altar—knocking over one of the candles, which I suppose went for
Judas Iscariot—he faced about, and with his long train, supported by
three pages, marched down, with a slow stately step, into the centre of
the cathedral. Here twenty-four priests, through whose files he passed,
and who were in sable robes, with dark crowns on their heads, fell flat
with their faces upon the pavement. The banner continued waving over
them for several minutes, while the low tones of the organ died away on
the silent air. Several of these prostrate functionaries, when their
eyes met each other, found it almost as difficult to preserve their
gravity as Cicero’s augurs.
The banner now disappeared through one of the side chapels; the priests
got up, replaced their crowns, and the spectators departed. Not a word
was spoken during the whole ceremony; what it meant, is more than I can
say. I made repeated inquiries of those present, but no one could give
me any information beyond the fact that it belonged to Holy Week. I
must, therefore, refer the reader to those better versed than myself in
symbolic worship or an interpretation of the vision.
THURSDAY, APRIL 9. At twelve o’clock to-day all the bells in Lima rung
out a simultaneous peel, and were then sent to Rome to be blessed by the
Pope. They will return again, it is understood, on Saturday, and
announce their arrival from their respective steeples. Their visit to
the _pontifex maximus_ must of course be taken in a metaphorical, or
Picwickian sense. It is a constructive journey, such as our honorable
senators take at the inauguration of a new president.
As the bells left for Rome every shop in Lima was closed. No public or
private vehicle was seen in any street. Even the donkeys, with their
water tanks, disappeared from the city fountains. Every man, woman, and
child suspended their amusements, labors, and secular cares. The
dominoes lay untouched, and the cue of the billiard-table stood
unmolested in its rack. Men passed each other in the streets without the
customary salutations. It was as if the whole city had been suddenly
struck into a speechless awe and reverence.
This was intended to portray an appropriate sense of the scenes which
occurred in Jerusalem, when redeeming Love underwent the agonies of the
Cross. Its significance lay in the exhibition of a seeming sympathy with
the sorrows of the sufferer. It was a silent allegorical tragedy, in
which each one found himself an actor. To me no other exhibition in the
ceremonies of Holy Week had so much moral force. Silence often makes
itself felt, when thunder passes unheeded.
FRIDAY, APRIL 10. All good Limaneans, with the president and his cabinet
at their head, made last night the circuit of the principal churches. In
each was a representation, in effigy, of some scene connected with the
Crucifixion. In San Lorenzo was the Last Supper. The table was spread
within the chancel in front of the high altar, and was loaded with the
richest viands and fruits, while each plate had its bottle of wine and
roll of bread. A profane epicure might have forgotten the sacredness of
the symbols in the culinary skill and taste which they displayed.
In the church of San Domingo was represented the accusation before
Pilate. Beneath the high altar sat the Roman governor, with his court on
either hand; before them raved the accusers, while within stood in
silent meekness the divine Victim. Near Pilate knelt a page, with a bowl
of water in one hand, and a napkin in the other, that this arbiter of
life and death might cleanse his hands of guilt. The whole scene
betrayed an extravagance in attitude and emotion better suited to the
drama than the solemnity of the occasion.
In the church of San Francisco the slender trees of Gethsemane cast
their still shadows over the kneeling form of the Son of God. By his
side stood an angel with that cup which might not pass away. In the
great Cathedral, the summit of Calvary, with the cross and the crowd,
rose in solemn gloom. In San Pedro, the Roman guard, with drawn swords,
kept their grim watch over the tomb. The moral effect of all these
exhibitions in a Protestant community would be to impair the awful
reality; and even here they appeared to inspire but a qualified
reverence. The mass gazed as a curious child stops in its play to look
at a picture that has momentarily caught its roving eye.
SATURDAY, APRIL 11. The great band of musicians, connected with the
army, passed through the principal streets of Lima last night, playing a
funeral wail. The subdued strains rose through the silent air mournful
as melodies from out the grave. This was intended to be significant of
the anxious sorrow which watched around the tomb where Death had
temporarily asserted his empire over the Prince of Life.
At an early hour this morning the church of San Augustine was filled to
overflowing with the beauty of Lima. A large choir and orchestra had
been brought together on the occasion. The music commenced in strains of
lamentation and grief; and at last burst into expressions of the most
triumphant joy. At this moment the bells in all the towers of the city,
and which had been silent since Thursday, rung out an exulting peel.
This was the announcement of the Resurrection! The whole assemblage fell
on their knees and joined in the Hosanna which seemed to shake the
pillars of the great edifice.
The whole scene was now changed. Throughout the city gladness lighted
every countenance, and the gayest attire took the place of the gloomy
sables. The confectionaries, the fruit-stalls, the wine-shops, the
billiard-tables, were all thrown open, and were filled by crowds giddy
with the excitement of the joyous transition. Mothers played with their
infants; maidens twined jessamine-flowers in their locks; children fired
off their crackers; cripples neglected their crutches; creditors forgot
their insolvent debtors; and even the barefooted monk passed you without
soliciting charity. He strode on, independent as a lord.
SUNDAY, APRIL 12. The jubilation continued through the whole of last
night. Evening found the living tides of the city upon the great public
square. Here every species of trick and merriment, with the humor of the
hour, convulsed the crowd with laughter. All distinctions and all
restraints were cast aside. All classes and all colors mingled together
like leaves of the forest in the whirl of the autumnal winds.
Some were fiddling, some dancing; some singing, some shouting; some
niggling, some nudging; some declaiming, some drinking; some pilfering
nosegays, and some picking pockets; some making mischief, and some
making love. Here a harlequin turned somersets, and there a half-naked
rope-dancer figured on the suspended cord. Here a Punch and Judy played
off their pugilistics, and yonder a puppy and porcupine bristled and
barked. Here a broken-headed drum flapped its roll, and there a cracked
guitar squeaked its discords. Here wit ruled the hour, and there rum.
Thus passed the night till the Sabbath morn threw its broad light on the
scene. Thus closed Lent, and thus commenced Easter-Sunday. Thus
terminated the ceremonies of Holy Week,—begun in penance and prayer, and
ended in frolic and fun. That such a celebration can substantially
promote the cause of piety and the proprieties of life, must surpass the
belief of any one whose faith has not lifted the ceremonies of his
church above the reach of human fallibility.
MONDAY, APRIL 13. The climate of Lima has no extreme variations. The
mercury on Fahrenheit’s scale rarely rises in summer above eighty, and
rarely falls in winter below sixty-five. The prevailing temperature is
about seventy-five. But there is a surprising sensitiveness in the
inhabitants to these slight variations. Let a cooler current of air
sweep from the Cordilleras, and you will encounter everywhere the ample
cloak and heavy shawl. You hardly feel the change yourself, and think
for the moment you have got among invalids.
The effect of the climate on the constitutional habits of the European,
soon betrays itself in a relaxation of his energies. He loses his
enterprise, enthusiasm, and flinty endurance, and sinks into that dreamy
listlessness which pervades the great mass. His descendants dwindle in
intellect, and are dwarfed in person. If white, his complexion becomes
bronzed; if black, it is bleached into hues less sable. The climate acts
like the crucible which fuses the different metals which it contains
into one mass.
The climate acts with the same softening and subduing effect on the
force and ferocity of animals. The dog becomes spiritless, the tiger
ceases to spread dismay and terror when he leaves his lair, and the wild
bull brought within the arena, has to be goaded to the combat by a
system of refined cruelty and torture. No animal fights save in his own
defence, and the men, if roused and forced to action, rarely pursue an
enemy beyond the limits of the field where fortune has favored their
arms.
TUESDAY, APRIL 14. We visited again to-day the Franciscan convent. This
magnificent establishment had once some four hundred inmates, and an
income suited to the easy and sumptuous style in which they lived. But
in the Revolution its funds disappeared, and the monks sought an asylum
elsewhere. We encountered in its vacant halls but one, and he darted out
upon us seemingly to frighten away an American lady whom we had in our
company. He appeared, as he flitted along the silent corridors, more
like a dusky ghost than aught of flesh and blood. His long robe draped
his person; his cowl half concealed his wan features; his thin hands
held a crucifix; and his steps glided over the pavement noiseless as his
shadow. He was here, and there; now in the faint light; now in the
shadow of the wall; now in his cell; now in the chapel, and then
sweeping the long, dim corridor. You saw no motion of any limb; you
heard no sound; and if the glance of his eye fell on you, it was but for
a moment.
“Beware! beware of the black Friar,
Who flits through these halls of stone,
For he mutters his prayer in the midnight air,
And his mass of the days that are gone.
His form you may trace, but not his face,
’Tis shadow’d by his cowl,
But his eyes may be seen from the folds between,
And they seem of a parted soul.”
WEDNESDAY, APRIL 15. The most intolerable feature of a legal process in
Peru grows out of the “law’s delay.” A foreigner may be imprisoned for
weeks, and perhaps months, without being able to secure a hearing before
the proper tribunal. If he applies to the functionary, who represents
his country at this court, his case then takes a diplomatic character,
and wanders back and forth, in shadowy shape, while moons wax and wane.
His case is loaded with all grievances, piques, and prejudices, which
have agitated the parties, who have the management of it, through a
series of years. Till at last he finds it quite as difficult to get out
of the diplomatic net of his minister as the clutches of Peruvian law.
Now our commodores have a very brief mode of settling these
difficulties. They man their batteries and demand the release of the
prisoner in twenty-four hours. He is then held amenable to the laws,
which it is alleged he has offended. If innocent, he is rescued from
false imprisonment; if guilty, he pays the penalty. There are here no
stately forms of court etiquette, no subscriptions of having the honor
to be, with high consideration, your excellency’s most humble
nincompoop. Instead of this a demand is made, founded in humanity and
justice, and enforced by argument which the wise will not and the timid
dare not resist. Such is one of the advantages of having a navy. Disband
it and our citizens go to prisons and our commerce to pirates.
In the general tumult of Saturday night one of our junior officers came
in conflict with an irregular detachment of the military police. Weapons
were drawn; the leader of the file was disarmed by him, and several
others received slight wounds, when he was overpowered by numbers, and
led off to the guard-house. His liberation was promptly demanded by
Capt. Du Pont, but his amenability to the laws of Peru, of course,
recognised. The demand, after the responsibility of the case had been
shuffled from the intendente to the prefect, and from him to the
criminal judge, was complied with.
As soon as it reached the lawyers of Lima that a case of this kind had
got into their courts, they gathered around the young officer like forty
rival lovers for the hand of the same lady. Some proffered their
services for half the usual fee; some for what he might please to give,
and several said they should charge him nothing except for stationery.
Some pressed their pretensions through the legitimate character of their
diplomas; some through their relationship to the judge; and one quoted
half the Justinian code, as evidence of his qualifications.
But they were all a little too disinterested; and it was determined to
let the case go by default; and pay such damages as the court might
decree. The result was that every rascal who had received a scratch, no
matter from whom, on Saturday night, came in for damages. The sagacity
of the judge set the claims of most of them aside; but enough succeeded
to mulct our young officer in several hundred dollars, though his sword
had as little to do with most of their wounds and bruises as the pen
with which I write this. An offence here connected with a foreign
officer, has as wide a responsibility as the magic of a Salem witch.
Hardly a hen can miscarry, but the loss of her egg is traced in some way
to this military Achan.
But yesterday the captain of an American merchantman was imprisoned at
Callao. Commodore Stockton immediately inquired into the circumstances,
which were these:—The captain had come down to the Landing to go on
board his vessel, when he found his boat’s crew in conflict with a party
on shore. The difficulty originated with a midshipman in the Peruvian
navy, who had struck one of the Americans. The captain made a resolute
effort to detach his crew from the engagement, when the whole were
overpowered by the military and lodged in prison.
These being the facts. Commodore Stockton called in person on the
governor of the port and demanded the captain’s release. His firmness,
and his ability to back his demands with the guns of the Congress, had
the desired effect. The captain was liberated. This was done, not to
rescue the captain from just amenability, but from unjust imprisonment.
When the case was examined into by the proper authorities he was
acquitted of all blame: still his innocency would not have saved him
from a vexatious confinement but for this resolute proceeding on the
part of the Commodore.
THURSDAY, APRIL 16. The Indian’s eyrie, on the summit of some steep and
lofty mountain, says a traveller, may be easily passed many times
unnoticed by the stranger. But he will one day encounter a swift-footed
Indian, closely followed by a person on a well-accoutred mule,—whose
geer is all laden with silver ornaments; and the rider, who sits at his
ease in a saddle of the country, with a rich pillion, wears a large
brimmed hat, with a black silk cap emerging to view at the ears and
temples. He has on a couple of ponchos, well decorated and fringed:—his
brown stockings are of warm Vecuña wool; and the heel of his small shoe,
half concealed in a clumsy, though costly wooden stirrup, is armed with
a prodigiously disproportioned silver spur, with a large tinkling
roller, used to keep his noble animal in mind that she is but the
harbinger of death, and carries on her back the keeper of the sinner’s
conscience.
This minister of peace to the miserable hurries to shrive the soul of a
dying Indian, whose abode, like the falcon’s, overlooks the paths of the
ordinary wayfaring man; and which, when descried, seems to the sight of
the observer underneath to be, indeed, the loftiest earthly point
between the ground he himself stands upon, and the heaven for which, it
is believed, the anxious and fluttering spirit of the dying man only
waits the curate’s absolution and blessing to wing its immortal flight.
When all is over, when the absolving benediction has been pronounced,
and death has triumphed where life took its last stand, the pale
pulseless form, wrapped in its most costly vest, is dressed for burial.
Wild-flowers are strewn on the dead by the Indian maiden, while the
cliffs around mournfully echo back the funeral dirge. How true is human
instinct to the awful mystery of the grave!
Observing an immense concourse on the grand plaza, I elbowed my way
among them, and soon ascertained the cause of the rush to be the drawing
of the public lottery. On an elevated ample platform were seated the
judges, before whom revolved three hollow globes. The first contained
the billets representing the prizes, the second the names of those who
held tickets, the third the numbers of these tickets. When the globes
stopped revolving, the lads stationed at each drew, through a small
aperture, simultaneously, a billet. One contained the prize, another the
number of the ticket, the third the name of the owner. Every heart was
now in a terrible flutter till the number and name were announced; and
then a shadow fell on many faces that were bright a moment before.
The largest prize was a thousand dollars; the least was a silver
pitcher, or a silver _unmentionable_, belonging to chamber furniture,
and which was displayed without the slightest sentiment of mirth. A more
motley crowd than those whose dreams of wealth were here dashed,
delusive hope never brought together. They assembled in noise and mirth,
and separated in silence and sadness. Such a scene as this the grand
plaza presents on the afternoon of every Wednesday. The proprietor of
the lottery pays the state annually forty thousand dollars for his
privilege. The tickets are one real, or twelve and a half cents each.
They who cannot buy ten, twenty, or a hundred, can buy one. In this lies
the secret of its success and mischief. It finds a dupe wherever it can
find a fool with a penny. The venders of these lottery tickets hawk them
through every street and lane, and from the stepstones of every church
in Lima. The pious signature assumed by the purchaser, shows that he
connects his hopes of success with the assurances of his religious
faith. No one here would pit a cock without a prayer to his patron
saint.
FRIDAY, APRIL 17. On the Sabbath which succeeded Holy Week I went to the
cathedral to attend worship, and found it closed; continued on to the
church of San Pedro, and found that closed; turned off to the church of
San Augustin, and found that also closed. Observing the streets full of
people, who were moving towards the broad bridge which crosses the
Rimac, I concluded that there must be some great religious festival in
that quarter, and followed on.
The crowds continued to move over the Rimac, but instead of entering any
church, wound off, in solid column, through the rows of trees which
shade its left bank. I at last inquired of an intelligent looking man
who was walking at my elbow, to what sacred spot they were bound. When,
with a look of half wonder at my ignorance, he replied, To the _corrida
de toros_!—the bull-fight! I turned on my heel and threaded my way back,
with some difficulty, through the crowds who were pressing onward to the
savage spectacle. Among them were groups of children from the
schools,—boys in gay frocks, and girls in white, with wreaths of flowers
around their sunny locks, headed by their teachers. Monks with their
beads, mothers with their daughters; infancy at the breast, and old age
with one foot in the grave; all chattering and laughing, and jostling
and shouting, and pressing on to the bull-ring, on the Sabbath!
Upon inquiry, I found that these bull-fights formerly took place on
Monday, but that the Archbishop of Lima, to enable the laboring classes
to attend them, had changed the day to the Sabbath. They are a horrible
spectacle at best, utterly revolting to every sentiment of refinement
and humanity; and the social and moral evils which they inflict would be
sufficiently revolting were they confined to secular occasions, but they
become doubly pernicious when they involve such an outrage on the
sanctity of the Sabbath, under the sanction, too, of the highest
ecclesiastical functionary in the state.
Bull-fights, as conducted here, involve very little peril and suffering
except to the poor beast. His antagonists are pretty safe, or he would
drive them out of the arena. It is an exhibition of craft and cowardice
on one side, and courage and despair on the other. Of the two, the bull
sustains much the nobler part, and would have much the larger share of
my sympathy and respect. If men must fight for the amusement of their
fellows, let them fight one another. If the death of one don’t furnish
sufficient, excitement, then let the other be shot or hung, as the taste
of the spectators shall suggest. But let them not catch a poor beast,
torture him with fagots and fire, skulk themselves, and pick him to
death with their long weapons, and then insult the intelligence of the
community by calling the dastardly act an exhibition of chivalry and
valor.
It is no wonder the ladies in Lima are deficient in delicacy and moral
refinement, accustomed as they are from their childhood to such savage
spectacles. It is but justice, however, to say, that there are some
mothers here who will not permit their daughters to attend them; nor
will they allow them, for this, or any other purpose, to disguise
themselves in the _saya y manto_. There was one righteous man in Sodom,
and there is more than one good mother even in Lima.
[Illustration: LIMA]