MONTEVIDEO AND BUENOS AYRES
Through the vaporous atmosphere of the sky-line appear the serrated
edges of Montevideo, the capital of Uruguay, which was formerly a
province of the Argentine, but is to-day an independent republic. In
the current language of Buenos Ayres, Uruguay is known simply as "the
Oriental Band," and when you hear it said of any one that "he is an
Oriental," know that by this term is not meant a Turk or a Levantine,
but the inhabitant of the smallest republic in South America, hemmed in
between the left bank of the Uruguay, Brazil, and the sea.
Quite apart from the question of size, the Argentine and Uruguay have
too much in common not to be jealous of each other. The Argentinos
would appear to think that the prodigious development of their country
must ultimately have the effect of bringing back Uruguay to the fold.
This may be so; but it is also quite possible that the "Oriental Band"
in her pride will continue to cherish her independence. Meantime, while
leaving to the future the solution of the question, there is a little
friction between them. Uruguay's revolutionary shocks usually originate
in Argentine territory, across the river. The Argentine Government is
certainly averse to any leniency towards those who incite to civil war,
but it is not always able to exact obedience. South American ways! It
is hardly necessary to add that the leaders of an unsuccessful party
are wont to take refuge in Buenos Ayres--ten hours distant by the
fine boats on the estuary--and that the natural magnet of commercial
prosperity enlarges this political nucleus by the powerful factor
of trade. There are no less than fifty thousand Orientals[1] in the
Argentine capital, and the daily traffic between the two cities may
be judged by the crowd assembled morning and evening on board the
_Piroscafi_.
A brisk walk round the city to obtain a first impression of South
America was the most I could do in a stop of a few hours. The landing
was somewhat laborious owing to a heavy sea. The President of the
Republic was obliging enough to send me a greeting by one of his
aides-de-camp, and placed at my disposal the most comfortable of boats,
which, after dancing gaily for a while on the waves, finally landed us
without too much trouble. The docks, constructed by a French firm, are
nearly approaching completion. The great European vessels could here,
as at Rio, moor alongside the quays. Why should the _Regina Elena_ lie
off outside? A question of red-tape, such as I found later at Rio de
Janeiro, exposes travellers to the annoyance of transhipping when every
accommodation exists for mooring inside the harbour. Thus on these
Latin shores I found a familiar feature of my own bureaucratic land.
Beside the French Minister, who is a friend, numerous journalists of
pen and kodak came to offer a cordial welcome to their _confrère_. M.
Sillard, an eminent engineer from the "Central" School at the head of
the French colony here, is in charge of the harbour works. He has
succeeded in winning for our country the esteem of every class of
the population. The motor-cars start off. The first visit is to the
Post-office where I am greeted by a cordial Montevidean whom I do not
recognise but whose first word reveals an _habitué_ of Paris. I have
travelled by a long road to find out here the boulevard atmosphere!
There can be no two opinions about Montevideo. It is a big, cheerful
town, with handsome avenues well laid out. Some fine monuments denote a
capital city. Streets animated but not too noisy; sumptuous villas in
the suburbs; subtropical vegetation in gardens and parks; a pleasant
promenade amid the palm-trees by the sea. The dwelling-houses are for
the most part of the colonial type. A very lofty ground-floor, with
door and windows too often surcharged with ornament resembling the
sugar-icing of the Italian pastry-cook, and calculated to convey to
these sunny lands an idea of cheap art. The unexpected thing is that
the first floor stops short at its balconies as if sudden ruin had
overtaken the builder. I found this feature repeated _ad infinitum_
wherever I went. The most modest of citizens, as soon as he can turn
his back on his primitive cabin of corrugated iron, makes a point of
arousing the admiration of the public with the decorative balcony of a
first floor that will never be built. Roofs flat and without chimneys:
the climate allows of this. Occasionally a balustrade that almost gives
the illusion of a finished building, but that the balcony, cut off
short at a height of from two to three feet, leaves you again in doubt
as to its object. The drawing-room windows are naturally in the front
of the house, and here ladies in their indoor dress have no objection
to showing themselves for the delectation of passers-by.
But let us say at once that in these countries where the blood is hot
misconduct is rare. Men marry young, and the demands of a civilisation
as yet untouched by decadence leaves little energy for pleasure that
must be sought elsewhere than on the strait path. I will not say
but what the great attraction of Paris for many South Americans is
precisely the pleasure of the novelty it offers in this respect. It is
sufficient for me to set down what came under my notice: happy homes
and regular habits; a tranquil enjoyment of a life of virtue. The
living-rooms are always grouped around a _patio_ with its colonnade
bright with trees and flowers, and here their occupants enjoy the
utmost privacy with an absence of street noises.
These are the impressions gathered in a hasty walk, since my first
visit was necessarily for the President of the Republic and my time
was strictly limited. The Presidential palace was a modest-looking
house, distinguished only by its guard. Many of the soldiers show
strong signs of mixed blood. Curiously enough the sentry is posted not
on the pavement but out in the street, opposite the palace. As traffic
increases, this rule will need to be changed. The President was not
in his office. I was cordially received, however, by the Minister of
Foreign Affairs, who was like the most obliging of Parisians. A few
steps from the palace I met the President of the Republic, with a small
crowd round him, and easily recognisable by his high hat. I was careful
not to interrupt him. He is going to do me the honour of receiving me
when I return to the capital of Uruguay.
Señor Williman is a compatriot, the son of a Frenchman, of Alsatian
origin. Before his election he was professor of physics, and he has
not thought it necessary to allow his political duties to interfere
with his educational work; twice a week he lectures in the college,
where he becomes again the happy schoolmaster whose pupils have not
yet developed their powers of contradiction. This charming democratic
simplicity is in curious contrast with our own persistent efforts to
save as much of the ancient autocratic machinery as possible from the
revolutionary shipwreck. It is agreeable to be able to testify to the
great personal influence that M. Williman wields in this land of Latin
dissension.
We must get back to the ship, which is announcing its departure. With
what pleasure shall I revisit Montevideo! There is perhaps more of a
French atmosphere about the capital of Uruguay than any other South
American city, and it has just enough exotic charm to quicken our
pleasure at finding French sympathies in these foreign hearts. We get a
view from the deck of the _Regina Elena_, as we pass, of the _Cerro_,
which is something like the Mont-Valérien of Paris, and which in
this land of flat alluvial soil assumes a very great importance. Like
its prototype, it is crowned with a bristling line of fortifications,
and Uruguay is so proud of this phenomenon that it has placed the
_Cerro_ in the national arms, where it figures in the form of a green
sugar-loaf; no good Oriental omits to tell you that there is nothing
like it in the Argentine.
Under the stinging breeze of the persistent _pampero_, our "screw"
began to turn again in the heavy, clayey waters, with a slow, regular
rhythm. To-morrow at daybreak we shall be looking through our glasses
at the port of Buenos Ayres.
The estuary of the Rio de la Plata (Silver River[2]) that we have now
entered is a veritable sea. Though this immense sheet of water is
practically landlocked, there is no trace of land on the horizon. It
is said to be as wide as the Lake of Geneva is long, not far short of
thirty miles, spreading to nearly five times these dimensions at its
mouth, after a course of 350 kilometres.
The area covered by the estuary is larger than Holland. Two big rivers,
the Uruguay and the Parana, pour their waters into this enormous _cul
de sac_, which is often ruffled by an unpleasant sea, as at this
moment, and, after their junction at the small town of Nueva Palmira,
in Uruguay, they project into the Atlantic a huge volume of water drawn
from a vast watershed representing one quarter of South America. The
tide is felt nearly a hundred miles above the confluence. Montevideo,
200 kilometres from Buenos Ayres, seems to guard the entrance of this
inner sea, whilst the Argentine capital, situated on the opposite
shore, is almost at the extremity of the bay. Clay deposits, silted
down by a relatively weak current, clog the estuary and require
constant dredging to keep the channel open to vessels of large tonnage.
This is the problem which faces the port authorities of Buenos Ayres.
At last the town comes in sight. From out the grey clouds driven by the
_pampero_ there emerge the massive shapes of the tall elevators--those
lofty cubes of masonry so dear to North America. Neither church
steeples nor any other prominent monuments. Low, prosaic banks, barely
distinguishable from the water, a few clumps of palms here and there,
unbroken plains, an utter absence of background to the picture. We
are preceded by two pilot boats, their flags flying in honour of the
President of the Republic, who is lunching on board a training ship
within the harbour.
Very slowly the _Regina Elena_ brings up at the quayside. The
gangway is put out, and behold a delegation of the Argentine Senate,
accompanied by an officer from the President's military household, sent
to welcome me. A deputation from the French colony also arrives, having
at its head the governor of the French Bank of Rio de la Plata, M. Py.
Cordial handshakes: a thousand questions from either side. Friendly
greetings are exchanged, some of them taking almost the form of brief
harangues in which the mother-country is not forgotten. Journalists
swarm round us. As might be expected, the _Prensa_, _Nacion_, and
_Diario_ have each a word to say. I offer my best thanks to the
members of the Senate. Farewell to the excellent Captain with my best
wishes. Then I get into the motor-car which ten minutes later drops me
at the door of my hotel. I am in the Argentine Republic. Henceforth I
must keep my eyes open.
Buenos Ayres first. It is a large European city, giving everywhere an
impression of hasty growth, but foreshadowing, too, in its prodigious
progress, the capital of a continent. The Avenida de Mayo, as wide as
the finest of our boulevards, recalls Oxford Street in the arrangement
of its shop-fronts and the ornamental features of its buildings. It
starts from a large public square, rather clumsily decorated and closed
on the sea side by a tall Italian edifice, known as the _Palais Rose_,
in which Ministers and President hold their sittings; it is balanced
at the other end of the avenue by another large square with the House
of Parliament, a colossal building nearly approaching completion, with
a cupola that resembles that of the Capitol of Washington. Every style
of architecture is to be seen, from the showy, the more frequent, to
the sober, comparatively rare. The finest building is without question
that of the wealthy _Prensa_, which we shall visit later.
There is an epidemic of Italian architecture in Buenos Ayres.
Everywhere the eye rests on astragals and florets, amid terrible
complications of interlaced lines. I except the dainty villas and
imposing mansions which call public attention to the dwellings of
the aristocracy. I suppose that the business quarters of all cities
present the same features. The commercial quarter of Buenos Ayres is
the most crowded imaginable. Highways that seemed spacious twenty or
thirty years ago for a population of two or three hundred thousand
souls have become lamentably inadequate for a capital city with more
than a million. The footway, so narrow that two can scarcely walk
abreast, is closely shaved by a tramway, which constitutes a danger to
life and limb. The traffic is severely regulated by a careful police.
But so congested with foot passengers do certain streets become of an
afternoon that they have had to be closed to vehicles.
In spite of the wisest of precautions, the problem of shopping in
the chief business district is not easily solved. To stroll along,
or, still worse, to pause to look in at a shop window, is out of the
question. Politeness demands here that the honours of the road be paid
to age as to sex; so if by chance, in the confusion, you come upon
a friend, you must stand on the outer edge of the pavement so as to
check as little as possible the flood of human beings driven inwards
by the almost continuous passing of the tramway. It is only just to
add that this means of locomotion, which is universally adopted here,
is remarkably well organised. Still, there are occasions when one must
go on foot, and the municipal government, which has laid out elsewhere
broad highways in which cabs, carriages, and motors may take their
revenge for the scanty accommodation afforded them in the overcrowded
centre, is faced with the urgent necessity of laying out hundreds of
millions of francs in a scheme for street improvement that cannot be
much longer postponed.
One of the peculiarities of Buenos Ayres is that you can see no
end to it. Since on the side of the Pampas there is no obstacle
to building operations, small colonial houses, similar to those
that attracted my notice at Montevideo, make a fringe on the edge
of the city, that extends ever farther and farther into the plain
in proportion as building plots in the city area--the object of
perpetual speculation--rise in value. Some of brick, some of plaster
or cement, these villas make comfortable quarters in a land where no
chimney-stacks are needed. The quality of the building, however, goes
down naturally as one draws nearer the Pampas. The lowest end of the
scale offers the greatest simplification: walls of clay dried in the
sun, with a roof of corrugated iron, or the more primitive _rancho_,
supported on empty oil-cans, placed at convenient distances, with the
spaces filled in with boughs or thatch. One hardly knows whether this
outer edge of habitations can fairly be included in the city area
or not. The motor-car has been travelling so long that a doubt is
permissible. The track is only a more or less level, earth road, which
just allows the car to run over its surface but cannot be said to add
anything to the pleasure of the drive.
The drawback in this country is the absence of wood, of stone, and of
coal. No doubt in the more distant provinces there are still fine
forests, which are being ruthlessly devastated either for _québracho_
(the tree that is richest in tannin), or for fuel for factory furnaces;
but the cost of transport is so great that the more prosperous part of
the Republic gets its timber from Norway. Uruguay, on the other hand,
supplies a stone that is excellent both for building and for macadam
and paving: a heavy expense. As for coal, it is the return cargo of
English vessels which carry as inward freight frozen meat and live
cattle.
Without comparing in density of shipping with the ports of London, or
New York, or Liverpool, a noble line of sea-monsters may be seen here
stretching seven miles in length, most of them being rapidly loaded or
unloaded in the docks by powerful cranes. The scene has been a hundred
times described, and offers here no specially characteristic features.
I should need a volume if I tried to describe the plan and equipment
of the docks of Buenos Ayres. Those who take an interest in the
subject can easily get all the information they need. The rest will be
grateful to me for resisting the temptation to quote long lists of
figures copied from technical reports. Here it will suffice for me to
state that there are two ports--the _Riachuelo_ and the "port of the
capital." The former is a natural harbour formed by a stream of the
same name. It is used as the auxiliary of the other, which is finely
fitted with every appliance of modern science. More than 30,000 craft,
sail and steam, come in and out annually, including at least 4000 from
overseas.
The big grain elevators have been described over and over again. Those
of Buenos Ayres are no whit inferior to the best of the gigantic
structures of North America. Each can load 20,000 tons of grain in a
day. To one there is attached a mill said to be the largest in the
world. Covered by way of precaution with the long white shirt that
stamped us at once as real millers, we wandered pleasantly enough
amongst the millstones and bolters which transform the small grey wheat
of the Pampas into fine white flour. Our Beauce farmers accustomed to
heavy ears of golden wheat would not appreciate this species, which,
moreover, requires careful washing. We were told that it is the
richest in gluten of all known species. Diabetics know, therefore, for
what to ask.
The slaughter-houses of the Negra, round which I was taken by M.
Carlos Luro (son of a Frenchman) form a model establishment in which
no less than 1200 oxen are killed daily, without counting sheep and
pigs--a faithful copy of the famous slaughter-houses of North America.
The beast, having reached the end of a _cul de sac_, is felled by a
blow from a mallet and slips down a slope, at the foot of which the
carotid artery is cut. After this operation, the body is hooked up by
a small wagon moving along an aerial rail, and is then carried through
a series of stages which end in its being handed over in two pieces to
the freezing chambers to await speedy shipment for England--the great
market for Argentine meat. The whole is performed with a rapidity so
disconcerting that the innocent victim of our cannibal habits finds
himself in the sack ready for freezing, with all his inside neatly
packed into tins, before he has had time to think. "We use everything
but his squeals," said a savage butcher of Chicago. Veterinaries are
in attendance to inspect each beast, which in the event of its being
condemned is immediately burnt.
The first colonists, arriving by sea, naturally built their town close
to the port. The capital now, in its prosperity, seeks refinement of
every kind, and laments that the approach to the seacoast is disfigured
by shipping, elevators, and wharves. The same might be said of any
great seaport. Buenos Ayres in reality needs a new harbour, but it
looks as if the present one could scarcely be altered.
It is naturally in this part of the town that you find the wretched
shanties which are the first refuge of the Italian immigrants whilst
waiting for an opportunity to start off again. Here is to be seen all
the sordid misery of European towns with the accompaniment of the
usual degrading features. I hasten to add that help--both public and
private--is not lacking. The ladies of Buenos Ayres have organised
different charitable works, and visit needy families; as generosity is
one of the leading traits in the Argentine character, much good is done
in this way. There are no external signs of the feminine degradation
that disfigures our own public streets.
Why is it that this swarm of Italians should stop in crowded Buenos
Ayres instead of going straight out to the Pampas, where labour is so
urgently needed? I was told that the harvest frequently rots on the
fields for want of reapers, and this in spite of wages that rise as
high as twenty francs per day. There are a good many reasons for this.
In the first place, such wages as this are only for a season of a few
months or weeks. Then again, these Italian labourers complain that if
they venture far from the city, they have no protection against the
overbearing of officials, who are inclined to take advantage of their
privileged position. I do not want to dwell on the point. The same
complaints--but more detailed--reached me in Brazil. Both the Argentine
and Brazilian Governments, to whom I submitted the charges brought
against their representatives, protested that whenever any abuse could
be proved against an agent he was proceeded against with the utmost
rigour of the law. There can be no doubt as to the good faith of the
authorities, who have every interest in encouraging the rapid growth
of the population in the Pampas. Besides, it must be borne in mind that
the elements of immigration are never of the highest quality. Still, I
should not be surprised to learn that there was occasion for a stricter
control in the direction I have indicated.
So far, I have said nothing of the beauties of the city. It is a pity
that amongst the attractions of Buenos Ayres the sea cannot be counted.
A level shore does not lend itself to decorative effect. A mediocre
vegetation; water of a dirty ochre, neither red nor yellow; nothing to
be found to charm the eye. So I saw the sea only twice during my stay
at Buenos Ayres--once on arrival, and again when I left. During the
summer heat, that section of the population which is not compelled to
stay flees to Mar del Plata, the Trouville of Buenos Ayres, a charming
conglomeration of beflowered villas on an ocean beach.
A perfectly healthy city. No expense has been spared to satisfy the
demands of a good system of municipal sanitation. Avenues planted
with trees, gardens and parks laid out to ensure adequate reserves of
fresh air, are available to all, and lawns exist for youthful sports.
The zoölogical and botanical gardens are models of their kind. A fine
racecourse, surrounded by the green belt of foliage of the Argentine
Bois de Boulogne, is known as Palermo.
A Frenchman, the genial M. Thays, well known amongst his European
colleagues, has entire control of the plantations and parks of Buenos
Ayres. M. Thays, who excels in French landscape gardening, takes
delight in devoting his whole mind and life to his trees, his plants
and flowers. He is ready at any moment to defend his charge against
attacks--an attitude that is wholly superfluous, since the public of
Buenos Ayres never lets slip an opportunity of testifying its gratitude
to him.
Wherever he discovers a propitious site, the master-gardener plants
some shoot which will one day be a joy to look upon. He has laid out
and planted fine parks. He has large greenhouses at his disposal, and
any prominent citizen, or any association popular or aristocratic can,
for the asking, have the floral decorations needed for a fête delivered
at his door by the municipal carts.
In his search after rare plants for the enrichment of his town, M.
Thays has visited equatorial regions--the Argentine, Bolivia, Brazil.
As his ambition vaults beyond the boundaries of Buenos Ayres, he has
conceived a project, already in process of execution, of founding a
great national park, as in the United States, in which all the marvels
of tropical vegetation may be collected. The Falls of Iguazzu--greater
and loftier than those of Niagara--would be enclosed in this vast
estate on the very frontiers of Brazil.
Apart from these plans of conquest, which make him a rival of
Alexander, M. Thays is a modest, affable man, who takes a good deal
of trouble to look as if he had done nothing out of the common. Were
I but competent I would describe the organisation of his botanical
garden, which is superior to any to be found in the old continent. More
amusing is it, perhaps, to follow him through the various sections
in which the characteristic flora of every part of the world is well
represented. The Argentine, as may be supposed, has here the larger
share. Here are displayed specimens of the principal species of flora
to be found in the district lying between the frozen regions of Tierra
del Fuego and the Equator: the Antarctic beech, the carob palm, the
_québracho_ (rendered extraordinarily durable by the quantity of tannin
it contains, and in great request for railway sleepers), walnut, and
the cedar of Tucuman or of Mendoza--which, by the way, is not a cedar.
It is from its wood that cigar boxes are made. It is used in the
woodwork of rich houses, for it is easy to handle and highly decorative
by reason of its warm colouring. Its fault is that it warps; wherever
you find it in house fittings, doors and windows refuse to open or shut
as they should.
But you should see M. Thays doing the honours of the _ombu_ and the
_palo borracho_. The _ombu_ is the marvel of the Pampas, the sole
tree which the locust refuses to touch. For this reason alone, it
has been allowed to grow freely, though not even man has found a way
to utilise what the voracious insects of Providence decline. For the
_ombu_ prides itself on being good for nothing. It does not even lend
itself to making good firewood. It is only to look at. But that is
sufficient. Imagine an object resembling the backs of antediluvian
monsters, mastodons or elephants, lying in the shade of a great mass
of sheltering foliage. Heavy folds in the grey rind denote a growing
limb, a rounded shoulder, a gigantic head half concealed. These are
the tremendous roots of the _ombu_, whose delight it is to issue forth
from the soil in the form of astonishing animated objects. When by foot
and stick you have ascertained that these living shapes are in reality
mummified within a thick bark, you turn your attention to the trunk
itself and find it hollow, with a crumbling surface.
Another surprise! The finger sinks into the tree, meeting only the
sort of resistance that would be offered by a thin sheet of paper. And
now fine powdery scales of a substance which should be wood, but, in
fact, is indescribable, fall into your hand. They crumble away into an
impalpable dust, which is carried off by the breeze before you have
had time to examine it. Now you have the secret of the _ombu_. Its
wood evaporates in the open air; at the same time there spring from
its strangely beast-like roots young and living shoots of the parent
tree. Since it is impossible to burn the non-existent, you cannot,
obviously, have recourse to the _ombu_ to cook your lunch. Here is an
example in the vegetable world of paradox, which has no mission in life
but a glorious uselessness. If it were but beautiful I should recommend
the _ombu_ to poets who profess to prefer the Beautiful to the Useful.
But as its appearance does not impress the beholder, the wisest course
is to impute its existence to momentary abstraction on the part of the
Creator.
The _palo borracho_, on the other hand, is extremely useful, though not
without a touch of capriciousness. Its popular name, which signifies
"the drunkard," has been given to it on the ground that it seems to
stagger; but such a name is a libel. This peaceful denizen of the
forest has nothing to do with the alcoholic world. Nor can it be said
to attract human society, for its strange trunk, strangled in a collar
of roots, and bulging in its middle parts, bristles with innumerable
points, short and sharp, which prevent all undue familiarity. These
thorns fall with age, at least from the lower part of the tree, but as
they exist elsewhere, even on the smallest twig, no animal, from man to
monkey, can venture upon its branches.
The trunk, if tapped with a cane, returns a hollow sound. The tree is,
in fact, empty, needing only to be cut into lengths to give man all he
needs for a trough. The Indian squaw uses it to wash her linen, and the
wood, exposed to the double action of air and water, becomes as hard as
cement. The unripe fruit, the size of a good apple, furnishes a white
cream, which, if not quite the quality demanded for five o'clock tea
at Rumpelmayer's, still supplies the natives with a savoury breakfast.
Later, when the fruit comes to maturity, it bursts under the sun's rays
into a large tuft of silky cotton, dotting the branches with white
balls and furnishing admirable material for the birds with which to
build their nests. It is for this reason that the species is known as
the "false cotton-tree." The exceedingly fine thread produced by this
tree is too short to be spun, but the Indians, and even Europeans, turn
it to account in many different ways. Soft pillows and cushions are
made with it, and I can speak personally of their comfort.
M. Thays was not the man to let us leave without seeing his plantations
of _yerba-maté_. Every one knows that _maté_, the Paraguay holly,
is a native of Paraguay, whence it spread to Chili, Brazil, and the
Argentine. Its leaves, dried and slightly roasted, yield a stimulating
infusion that is as much enjoyed by the South American colonists as
by the natives. Like kola, tea, and coffee, _maté_ contains a large
proportion of caffeine, which renders it a good nerve tonic and, at the
same time, a digestive.
I have tasted "Paraguay tea," or "Jesuits' tea," on several occasions,
but cannot honestly say I like it. The palate, however, ends by getting
used to anything. I have a friend who drinks valerian with pleasure.
All South America delights in the peculiar aroma of the strengthening
but, on first acquaintance, certainly unpleasant _maté_. Existence in
the Pampas is strenuous. The days are past when a cow was lassoed to
provide a beefsteak for your lunch. The favourite stimulant of the
_rancho_ is the _yerba-maté_ which puts new life into the exhausted
horseman. Everywhere in town and country, the first rite in the morning
is _maté_-drinking. Men and women carry the little gourd around, into
which each in turn dips the tube of the _bombilla_, a perforated disc
which travels from mouth to mouth, in the company of devotees.
In the old days, it was the tradition of _maté_-making to give the
first infusion--poured off quickly, but invariably slightly bitter--to
the servants. Growing familiarity with the herb has practically set
aside this practice: in fact, while it is, and probably always will be,
the favourite drink of the masses, the aristocracy and _bourgeoisie_,
though still appreciating _maté_, drink in preference China tea or
Santos coffee, like good Europeans. Yet the consumption of _maté_ has
increased enormously with the population. It has been calculated that
an Argentino spends twice as much in a year on _maté_ as a Frenchman on
coffee. Until the last few years the Argentine Republic, independently
of its home production, imported from Brazil and Paraguay 40 millions
of kilogrammes, estimated at 22 millions of francs.
As might be expected, the Argentine Government has shown itself anxious
to encourage the cultivation of _maté_. The difficulty lay in the
germinating process. In certain provinces of the Argentine, _maté_ grew
wild, but when sown the crops were a failure. After many trials, M.
Thays discovered that the seed only sprouted after long soaking in warm
water, and that, strangely enough, the plants thus produced could be
propagated without repeating this preliminary process. It appears that
in the ordinary course of nature, the fertilising process takes place
in the stomach of birds. The Jesuits had made the same discovery, but
on their expulsion they carried the secret away with them. M. Thays
rediscovered it. More than once an attempt has been made to introduce
the habit of _maté_-drinking into Europe. I do not think it will easily
come about. It would, nevertheless, be a great boon if _yerba-maté_
could with us, as in South America, be substituted for the alcohol
which is threatening us with irrevocable destruction.
I cannot leave the Botanical Garden without noting the pleasing effect
of the light trellises which are a feature of all large gardens here.
In this fine climate, where winter's cold is practically unknown,
neither shrubs nor flowers need the protection of glass. An arbour of
trellis-work with gay flower-borders forms a winter garden without
glass, in which sun and shade, cunningly blended, throw into delicate
relief the beauties of the plants. It is not quite the open air, and
neither is it the greenhouse. Let us call it a vast cage of decorative
vegetation.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The census of 1904 shows only twenty-nine thousand.
[2] The estuary, which is not a river, and which contains not a
particle of silver, was thus named from a few native ornaments
discovered in its bed by the first comers.