A LESSON IN HISTORY
FRANCISCO awoke very early the next morning, for he was unaccustomed to
sleeping away from home. He lay quite still listening to the unwonted
sounds. He heard the servants scrubbing the marble floors of the _patio_
and corridors; he heard the call of the _panadero_[8] and the hurrying
feet to answer; for no private family ever bakes its own bread in
Argentina, and the bakers have it all their own way, which isn't a very
bad way since their bread is light and deliciously crisp; he heard the
chattering of the parrots and paroquets in the servants' _patio_; then
the clatter of a squad of mounted policemen on their way to the day's
duty, the hoofs of their horses beating a tattoo of haste on the smooth
asphalt still wet with the daybreak bath of the sprinkling carts.
Then he became interested in his room. Such luxury as surrounded him! He
sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes, for he had never viewed these
bed-rooms except from the corridor, on his infrequent visits to the
house. His bed was heavily carved and overhung with a canopy of pale
blue plush and silk; the walls were panelled and painted in delicate
colours, with angels and cherubs everywhere; huge mirrors reflected each
other as they hung in their frames of Florentine gold, and after he had
viewed it all for a few moments, he buried his head in his pillow and
wished for his own bare room and his mother. Then he longed for Elena
that she might enjoy the beauties about him; and this reminded him of
the _pesebre_, which was still unfinished, but which he had brought with
him.
He wondered how he could get it to her without her finding out--and--he
must have fallen into a doze, for soon he heard an imitation _reveille_
blown through human hands, outside the closed blinds that shaded his
door into the corridor, and his uncle called good-naturedly: "A pretty
time for a soldier of the Republic to get up!"
Francisco hurried into his clothes and found the Colonel taking his
coffee and rolls in a shaded corner of the _patio_.
"I am going to give you all of my time to-day, Niño, as I feel lazy, and
I find there are many things here in your own native city that you know
nothing about, and that a boy of nine should see and learn. Your mother
could not be expected to do it, so it falls to me. We must start
immediately, before the heat of the day drives us indoors. Get your cap,
lad, and we will start over in the Plaza San Martín opposite, and have a
lesson in history."
They donned their hats, and Francisco felt very proud to walk beside his
uncle, who, if not a very large man in stature, loomed up big before the
boy's worshipful eyes.
"What do you know of Buenos Aires, Niño?" he asked as they sauntered
towards the centre of the park.
"Not much, Uncle Juan. I know it is the largest city on the South
American continent, and that it has over one million inhabitants. My
teacher said once that it is one of the largest produce markets in the
world."
"Yes, and there is much more. It is the largest Spanish speaking city in
the world, as it is twice as large as Madrid, the capital of Spain. But
it is also very cosmopolitan."
"I don't think I know just what that means, Uncle Juan."
"Cosmopolitan? Why that, in this case, means that there are many
nationalities represented in Buenos Aires. There are thousands of
Italians, Germans, Frenchmen, Englishmen and Russians; and one can hear
half a dozen different languages in an hour's time walking along the
streets. But, to-day, I want to start with a little history of our
country. So let us sit here on this bench and begin. At this early hour
we will not be disturbed."
They sat down almost under the shadow of the high statue of San Martín
and the Colonel reverently uncovered his head. Without being told,
Francisco took off his cap, and his uncle patted him affectionately on
the back. "Good, good, my boy! He deserves it, for no greater soldier
ever fought; but we will have to go back several centuries to get the
run of things," and as he leaned back he paused and puffed thin clouds
of smoke from his cigarette.
"You see, when Buenos Aires was really founded, it was in 1580,
sixty-four years after the River Plate was discovered by Solis, who
called it the River of Silver, because he believed silver could be found
on its banks. They called the city 'Good Airs,' because of the fresh,
invigorating quality of the air that blew over from the vast prairies.
This first settlement grew, and others farther into the interior sprang
from it; all of them Spanish settlements; and in 1661 the King of Spain
recognized them as a colony and appointed a governor. Thus it continued
until in 1806, when England was at war with Spain, and they sent Lord
Beresford, with several thousand men, down to this colony to take
possession of it.
"Buenos Aires then, as now, was the key to the entire country, and as it
had but forty thousand inhabitants, and was without any military
defence, he took it without trouble. But the Spaniards, at last,
overcame him; and he was obliged to give up his prize and leave. England
then sent another army, but this time the natives were prepared, and
their victory was complete. General Whitelock, in command, capitulated,
and his flag, the flag of the famous Seventy-First Regiment of the
British army, hangs in the Cathedral over yonder, where you see the
double spires beyond the house-tops. We are justly proud of that flag,
for that Seventy-First Regiment is the one that caused Napoleon no end
of trouble in Egypt.
"After this victory our people began to feel the stirrings of
independence from Spain itself, and a spirit of revolution took hold of
the officials and people. At last, an open revolt took place in the
Plaza Mayo, on the twenty-fifth day of May, 1810, and under the
leadership of splendid men--patriots all of them--our independence was
declared.
"But this was only the first step, just as it was with the great
republic of the United States when on the fourth of July they declared
their independence from England. So our twenty-fifth of May was but the
beginning of a long struggle. A _Junta_ was formed to govern, but it was
no easy task. To the north were Uruguay, Paraguay and Bolivia; to the
west Chile and Perú; all Spanish colonies. The _Junta_ sent troops to
these countries to endeavour to arouse the people to throw off the yoke.
They sent General Belgrano to--"
"Oh! Belgrano! I know about him, Uncle. His tomb is in the little square
in front of the church in Calle Defensa, and it was he who originated
our flag. He said the long blue bars were to represent our
faithfulness, as true as the beautiful blue of our skies; and the white
bar was to symbolize our honour, spotless and fair."
"Yes. Well, he went first to Paraguay; but the Spaniards had so
intermarried with the Paraguayan Indians, whom they had found in that
wild country, that they did not respond to the stirring appeal of
General Belgrano. He, however, succeeded in some of the northern
provinces, and thus encouraged, they organized a small navy. Do you know
who was our first admiral? No? Well, it was an Englishman and his name
was William Brown.
"With this navy, Montivideo, the capital of Uruguay, was taken.
Enthusiasm ran high, and it was just here that Don José de San Martín
came into the light of publicity, as commander-in-chief of the army. Now
let us take the automobile, awaiting us over in front of the house, and
ride to the Cathedral where the remains of our hero rest, and I will
tell you more about him there."
They rode along the clean streets, the fresh morning air blowing
straight into their faces, the curious, sing-song cries of the street
venders following them as they sped along Calle Florida.
"Uncle Juan, why is it that most of these street peddlers are Italians?
See, there goes an onion-man with his long strings of onions, their
stalks knit together into yard lengths; there is a vegetable cart; there
is a vender of fruit, and all of them speaking broken Spanish with an
Italian accent."
"Yes, Niño, most of the peddlers are Italian. I do not know why, unless
it is that each nationality turns to a special kind of work in this
world. The Italians are naturally merchants, they like to bargain. They
are also very fine mechanics. Did you ever notice that our plasterers,
or masons, who plaster the outside and inside of all our houses, speak
Italian?"
"And that group of men on the corner, see, Uncle, they are all dressed
alike, and must be of the same nationality; what are they?"
"Those"--indicating half a dozen men wearing full trousers held up by
red sashes, adorned with dozens of coins, their heads covered with round
full caps also red. "Those are Basques or Vascongados. There are many
here, and they come from a small piece of country to the west end of the
Pyrenees, in Spain, bordering the Bay of Biscay. Like the Italians,
they, too, follow the work best suited to them, and they are mostly
porters, because of their physical strength and powers of endurance.
"I have noticed, too, that the majority of our milk men are Basques, and
I account for that because in their native home they are a pastoral
people and such pursuits attract them. Listen as we pass: their language
is unintelligible to us although they come from Spain. It is unlike any
other European language."
They were now entering the great square called Plaza Mayo. It is the
heart of the city, although it is not in the centre. It covers about ten
acres, and is two blocks back from the muddy La Plata River; and scores
of masts and smoke-belching funnels of great ocean vessels can be seen
from its benches.
"That is our Government House. That much I know," said Francisco,
pointing to the rose-tinted building, modelled after the Tuileries, and
facing the plaza. From its rear to the river intervened grass plots and
groves of sturdy palmettoes.
"Yes, that is where our Senate convenes and where all the business of
the Republic is done. The President has his offices there, and all the
public receptions are held there. You see, our government does not
provide a home for our President; that, he must look after himself. Why,
we are just in time to see His Excellency now."
There was a clatter of hoofs under the wide _porte-cochere_ and a smart
closed coupe drew up before the side entrance. The liveried footman with
a cockade of blue and white (the Argentine colours) in his high hat
sprang to the ground and opened the door. A man, slightly above the
usual Argentine height, quite handsome, with pure Castilian features,
and dressed in afternoon garb of tall silk hat and frock coat, got out,
and walked spryly up the wide stone steps, past the sentries in scarlet
and green, into the vestibule.
"Do you know him, Uncle Juan?" asked Francisco, with awe in his voice.
"Señor Alcorta, El Presidente, is a warm friend of mine," replied the
Colonel, and as he said it he grew fully half a foot in his nephew's
estimation.
"A warm friend? Do tell me about him."
"Another time, Niño, we must hasten to yonder Cathedral; but he is a
good man and a good President."
They turned towards the enormous building, shaped like the Pantheon with
its blue tile-covered cupola, and its long portico supported by huge
Corinthian columns.
It was built by the Jesuits in the seventeenth century and hundreds of
Indians were employed by these pioneer fathers, in its construction.
Like all houses in Buenos Aires, it is of masonry untinted except by
years. With the Bishop's palace next to it, it covers an acre of ground.
Francisco and his uncle entered it and crossing themselves, knelt on the
bare stone floor, for like most Argentines, they were Catholics, and
this was their greatest cathedral. After a few minutes spent in
devotion, the Colonel led the way to one of the naves, where the tomb of
the great liberator, San Martín, stands, a huge sarcophagus upon a high
pedestal of marble. The Colonel stood in meditation a moment, then drew
the boy beside him on a bench. In a low voice he said:
"Francisco, San Martín, the father of our country, was not only a great
general, but he was also a remarkable organizer, for his troops were
composed mainly of _gauchos_ of the wild uncivilized kind, who were not
easily trained or drilled. It was he who originated the plan of crossing
the Andes and liberating Chile and Perú from the Spanish yoke.
"With his army of five thousand men, and in the face of public derision,
for the undertaking seemed impossible, he crossed the rugged Cordilleras
in twenty-five days; met the Spanish general in charge of Chile and
defeated him. He was thus the liberator of the Chilean people, for that
battle on the twelfth of February, 1817, gave them their independence
from Spain. In Santiago, Chile, there is a statue to General San
Martín, and one to the city of Buenos Aires. After his wonderful
achievement in crushing the power of Spain, in Argentina, Chile and
Perú, he retired to private life, refusing to serve in any civil
capacity.
"Following this revolutionary triumph, Brazil waged war with the
Argentine Republic over the disposition of Uruguay. After three years,
they agreed on its independence. This was followed by a dictatorship
lasting twenty years, that was a period of the greatest tyranny in our
history. Don Juan Manuel Ortiz de Rosas, at the head of a powerful troop
of half savage _gauchos_, appeared on the political stage, and literally
wrested the reins of government from Dorrego, who held them.
"Some time you will read in history of his twenty years of despotism. It
was during this reign that my father, your maternal grandfather, lost
his life in the blockade of Argentine ports, by French and English
forces. Rosas was at last overthrown by General Urquiza, who organized
the government upon its first solid basis, with a constitution modelled
closely after that of the United States of North America. Since then,
although we have had a few revolutions and several financial crises, we
have maintained our freedom; and our wonderful natural resources and our
rapid commercial development are giving us a stable place in the world's
congress of nations."
Francisco listened attentively, and when his uncle concluded, followed
him out a side entrance into the street, like one in a dream. They
stepped into the Calle Bartolomé Mitre, which seemed congested with a
torrent of vehicles pouring down its narrow channel like a noisy stream
and discharging itself into the great Plaza in front of the Cathedral.
"What if San Martín could see this now?" ventured Francisco, still
under the spell of the hero's achievements. "Wouldn't he open his eyes?"
"Yes, lad, the growth of this city has been phenomenal, and this
afternoon I will show you more of it. Why, you're not homesick, are
you?" he asked, noticing the far away look in the boy's eyes as they
sped along the _Avenida_.
"Not exactly, but I would like to see Elena, and find out how she is
to-day."
"Why, bless my heart! I had forgotten the sick sister. We will go past
thy mother's house and if the little rose is well enough this afternoon,
we shall include her in our ride in the city."
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 8: Baker.]