A SPLENDID CITY OF SHAM
“Of course we all work in sham,” remarked a prominent Argentine architect
to me, one clear, still night, as we leant together over the rail of a
river steamer, discussing the pros and cons of Buenos Ayres—a subject as
infinitely interesting to River Platers as the weather to the Englishman.
The “of course” was a kindly concession to some criticism of mine and
showed an open and liberal mind. The architect was no self-deluding
_porteño_ to whom Buenos Ayres was everything good, true and beautiful.
He was prepared to admit the warts.
He were, indeed, the blindest and most incompetent of observers who
failed to notice at the end of his first hour in Buenos Ayres that it is
a city of “sham.”
Its buildings are of no distinctive value architecturally—nay, not
even the most notable. Without exception they follow European models
in exterior treatment, no matter how widely they may differ from them
interiorly. That many of the public buildings are imposing, and at first
glance look like “the real thing,” no one will deny. Besides, he who were
foolish enough to deny this could be confronted with the evidence of the
official photographs which have conveyed to an envious Europe the idea
that Buenos Ayres eclipses her worn-out old cities in its architectural
glories. A photograph makes lath and plaster to look like granite and
porphyry. Through the camera the graceful buildings of the St. Louis
“World’s Fair” appeared as permanent as the pyramids, though a few score
labourers with picks and shovels wiped them out in less time than it took
to put them up.
Buenos Ayres is truly a city of sham. Nor is this to its shame. For it
costs more to erect its steel-frame and cement structures than it does
in Washington or London to rear solid piles of masonry. The country is
destitute of workable stone, and the bricks made in the Argentine are so
unsightly and spongy that they can only serve as a base for plaster. Wood
also is scarce and the gorgeous doors, without which no fine building in
Buenos Ayres would be considered complete, have to be imported at great
cost from Europe. Many of these are beautiful and in this one respect
the city may be said to outvie Paris, whence comes this taste for the
grandeur in gates.
It may be a mere old-world prejudice on my part, but I have never been
able to look with real interest on a building that has not been made of
brick or stone. In Europe, in the United States, also, we are accustomed
to historic buildings that have been reared by competent workmen with
the idea that they were to last forever, which, as Ruskin reminds us, is
the only true way to build. To come to a new land and find that the most
pretentious efforts of the builder’s craft are chiefly stucco copies of
European stone-work, leaves the beholder cold.
The Congreso has been trying for some years to become the pride of the
town. It is the great marble-veneer palace where the legislators sit—in
a literal sense, for they deliver their speeches seated—and it is
effectively situated at the western end of the spacious Avenida de Mayo.
It has been many years in course of construction and I am afraid to say
how many millions of money have been spent upon it. At least, it has
cost more than three times the amount originally voted for it, and there
are few senators or deputies who have not had some pickings out of the
“job.” No man knows when it will be finished, for it is said that as much
material as would have built two such palaces has gone in at the front
door of the works and been mysteriously absorbed. The explanation is
that many a fine residence for a legislator with a “pull” has been built
of the said material, after it had gone out a backdoor! Meanwhile the
gorgeous Palacio del Congreso presents a noble marble front to the great
Plaza Congreso and stares eastward along the Avenida without a blush for
its ulterior nakedness. It is like the noble savage, “whose untutored
mind clothes him in front and leaves him bare behind”; for when you have
turned the corners from the plaza you discover that only the front part
has been covered with marble slabs; behind there is naught but dirty
naked bricks. So it has been for three or four years and so it is like to
remain for some years to come; but meanwhile a photograph of the front
does good service for sending abroad as an evidence of the architectural
grandeur of the capital city.
But all this notwithstanding, the Congreso, as seen from almost any
point of the Avenida, is an imposing building. Dignity and elegance are
combined in its graceful proportions, and its elongated dome soars above
the surrounding buildings with a fine sense of confidence. The Corinthian
column is used very effectively in the façade and there are many—rather
too many—statuary groups, in which winged figures and ramping horses are
prominent. Grand stairways sweep up to the central door and inclined
planes make possible the near approach of carriages. But immediately
one steps inside there is disappointment. The central hall is of mean
proportions, and in a few minutes all is confusion, as there is no real
dignity of treatment, and certain inner courtyards are actually built
with painted iron pillars hopelessly out of harmony with the prevailing
style of the building. The Chamber of Deputies, in the form of an
ellipse, is businesslike and handsome, but no more imposing than some of
the council chambers of the great provincial cities at home. The Senate
is a smaller and more elegant chamber, richly furnished with ample seats
of ease and commodious desks for each of its distinguished members.
There is another luxurious room, dedicated to special ceremonies, and
the deputies’ lounge is immense and well-appointed, much after the style
of some of the big New York clubs. It is, indeed, at once a club and an
exchange, for here many of the “deals” by which some men make money in
the Argentine, and others lose it, are consummated.
On the first floor are ranged all the different ministerial offices and
committee rooms, and I think there were only two of these to which I did
not gain admission. But there was little of interest to note in them.
The fact that the rooms devoted to the affairs of the Army and Navy
were about one-tenth the size of those required for the department of
Public Works was eloquent and reassuring. But although I explored the
whole building, high and low, I find I have retained only a very blurred
impression of the interior with its bewildering passages, through which
liveried servants bearing trays of tea dishes were constantly passing,
as the Argentine deputy is a firm believer in getting all he can out of
his country in addition to his annual salary of 12,000 pesos ($5,040),
feeding at public expense, not only himself, but as many relatives and
friends as have the good sense to find important business to transact in
the lobbies of Congress at meal times.
A very handsomely furnished library is a notable feature of the palace.
It is small, but admirably designed for the enshrinement of many books.
One of the proudest possessions of the library, pointed out to me with
much satisfaction, is a complete set of the Hansard Debates of the
British Parliament. There are standard works on all sorts of social
subjects and books of statistics enough to give a mere literary man a
headache. I noted most of the books had a suspicious air of newness.
There was a deputy busy consulting a volume of Hansard, but no other
thirster after knowledge in the library at the time of my visit.
“You may come here often,” said the official who was showing me over
the building, “and you will seldom see more than two people using the
library,—perhaps three.”
The restaurant is much more popular with the deputies, but there is no
doubt that if any of them ever by chance should wish to “verify his
references” he would find no difficulty in performing that most laudable
and improbable task with the aid of this well-stocked and well-managed
library.
On the whole, the impression of the Palacio de Congreso upon the
visitor is of a piece with the capital city. It is all so new, and all
so unfinished, and promises to be rather shoddy when eventually it is
finished. As a tall strapping doorkeeper, who showed me over the great
rooms in the basement of the building, where are stored in iron chambers
many official records, said, “when they’ve finished the building they
will have to start all over again repairing it.”
I went outside on a balcony at the back to examine the still uncovered
brick-work. It is of a quality which would not be used for workmen’s
cottages in England, but once it has been hidden under plaster, with
thin slabs of marble imposed thereon, it will doubtless present a brave
appearance for some years. But not for all time!
[Illustration: THE PALATIAL HOME OF “LA PRENSA.”
Façade of the great newspaper office on the north side of the Avenida de
Mayo. Different interior views of this building are given at pages 80 and
81.]
At the eastern end of the Avenida stands the more historic “Pink House”
(_Casa rosada_), or government building. It occupies the whole width
of the Plaza de Mayo and extends backwards to the Paseo Colón beyond—a
mighty pile of plastered brick. Lacking in distinction and of no
established style, it is chiefly notable for its abundance of windows. I
remember counting about one hundred and twenty in the east front alone,
so that the whole building probably contains upwards of six hundred, and,
with so many piercings in its walls, it will be understood that little
opportunity was left for architectural ingenuity. An immense group of
statuary surmounts the central part of the building, and this too is
most likely a stucco masterpiece, for if it were solid stone it would
surely bring down the roof. The whole exterior is painted pink and on
a bright day its appearance is undeniably pleasing, if you are content
to take it as a whole and some little distance off, for a too close
inspection will reveal many shabby patches and innumerable corners that
are calling aloud for plaster and paint. Indeed, so large is the Pink
House, it would only be possible to give it a coat of paint that would be
fresh all over by employing an army of workers, for, ordinarily treated,
the paint on one side has become old ere the painters have reached the
other.
The interior of the Government House, _Casa de gobierno_—which is the
official designation of the _Casa rosada_—contains many fine apartments,
richly furnished. The great ballroom where the President gives his grave
and stately entertainments from time to time is of elegant proportion and
beautifully decorated.
At the northwest corner of the Plaza de Mayo stands the Cathedral.
Although I passed it daily for some eight months, I never mustered up
sufficient interest to go inside—I who have spent so many months of
my life among the musty old cathedrals and churches of France. I felt
there was little historic about this common and defective imitation of
a Grecian façade, vulgarised by wreaths of electric bulbs around its
Corinthian columns. At first glance it suggests a stock exchange rather
than a place of Christian worship. There is a dome of glazed tiles,
so far away from the low and squat entrance colonnade—which faces due
south—that it seems to have no relation to it. I do not remember noting
the material of the building—so little did it attract me—but I fancy it
consists of the usual plastered brick. One day I did seek to enter, but
could find no door that was open and never do I remember to have seen
the main door open on a week day. This is characteristic of the churches
of South America, where one misses that generous invitation of the fine
old fanes of France. Mainly, the Cathedral of Buenos Ayres will stay in
my memory as a great stock exchange building gone wrong, or—illuminated
on any of the numerous national feast days—as a municipal theatre on a
_noche de gala_.
A stone-throw from the Cathedral stands the Municipal Building, or
_Intendencia_, at the corner of the Avenida and the Plaza de Mayo. It is
of no account, and does not compare in interest with the splendid palace
of _La Prensa_ adjoining it. I confess that as a journalist I had more
desire to inspect the famous building of the great Buenos Ayres daily
than any other sight in the city. During my stay I had frequent business
with the management of _La Prensa_ and was privileged to examine every
corner of its wonderful home, on one occasion spending some hours in the
building after midnight, when the sight of Buenos Ayres from the globe on
which stands the _Prensa’s_ Goddess of Light, who holds aloft her flaring
torch over the restless city, is surely one that can be rarely equalled
in the world. No doubt if one were to look at Paris by night from the
apex of the dome over the Sacré Coeur, or London, say from the Clock
Tower at Westminster, the sight would be more beautiful, but it could
scarcely be more impressive, as the extraordinary flatness of Buenos
Ayres permits the observer on the _Prensa_ tower to survey the whole vast
city to its utmost limits and even to distinguish the twinkling lights
of La Plata, the provincial capital, twenty-four miles away. I shall not
readily forget that starry night when, at two o’clock, I stood up there
in the lookout beneath the Goddess of Light and saw the great noisy,
cruel city as a prodigious map of stars. The prodigality of Buenos Ayres
in electric light was evident even at that hour, for mile upon mile the
eye could follow the main streets with their double lines of radiant
dots, thinning gradually as they flickered into the boundless plain
beyond, while on the fringes of the mighty metropolis appeared numerous
constellations betokening the suburbs which the Federal Capital threatens
to engulf.
The interior of the _Prensa_ building would require a chapter to itself
to describe it with any attempt at detail. That is not possible here
and a mere glimpse of it must suffice. It is almost everything that our
English ideas would expect a newspaper office not to be. If you enter
from the front, there is nothing in the business department to strike
your attention. There are many newspaper offices in the United States
quite as imposing. Nor is there anything particularly worthy of note in
the reportorial rooms, the library, or any of the workaday departments,
though the note of luxury is probably more pronounced in the apartments
of the editor and the editorial writers than in most American offices.
The machine room is splendidly equipped. The overseer, I was told, was an
Argentine, but I suspect he was of British or German parentage, for the
native has little aptitude for mechanics. His assistant was a Britisher.
There is a series of “show” rooms which made it hard for one, like
myself, whose life has been spent in newspaper offices at home amid the
well-loved odour of printer’s ink, to imagine himself within a building
devoted to the production of a daily newspaper. At two o’clock in the
morning what a scene of hustle is a daily newspaper office in New York!
Here everything was as quiet and orderly as in a museum when the visitors
have gone! And in truth it reminded me not a little of a museum. There
was a magnificent concert hall, superbly decorated, with painted panels
for the doing of which artists had come especially from France. Here many
of the most famous operatic stars who have visited Buenos Ayres have
appeared before select audiences invited by the _Prensa_; celebrated
actors have tried new plays and illustrious visitors from foreign lands
have addressed privileged audiences in many different tongues. The value
of such a hall to a newspaper is so obvious that it is surprising none
of the New York journals has yet attempted anything of the kind. I think
the _Prensa_ salon accommodates an audience of some five hundred, and it
is smaller than the very charming little theatre of _Femina_, the Paris
ladies’ journal, in the Champs Élysées.
Then there is a suite of living-rooms, fronting to the Avenida, worthy
of a prince. These have been placed at the disposition of distinguished
visitors to the Argentine with a liberality that has not always been
duly appreciated, for I was told that this very pleasant custom of
honouring the country’s guests has more than once been abused by a
visitor staying so long that he threatened to become a permanent boarder
of the _Prensa_. Hence, it may be, that the custom is no longer to be
maintained, and I can imagine the business side of the newspaper can
make even better use of the space. A sports-room for the staff includes
appliances for every variety of indoor sport and exercise, from billiards
to fencing, nor need one ever be at a loss for a cooling bath in the hot
summer days, as the bathrooms and lavatories are worthy of a first-class
New York hotel. But, most curious of all, perhaps, are the medical and
dental departments. The rooms for the physicians and surgeons on the
staff of the _Prensa_ are supplied with all the latest medical and
surgical appliances, and readers of the paper can come here free of
charge for advice and treatment. There is also a legal department, where
skilled lawyers look into the troubles of the newspaper’s subscribers!
In short, the _Prensa_ building is one of the most interesting sights
of Buenos Ayres and a notable ornament of the Avenida. It is an epitome
of Argentine progress, for less than fifty years ago the journal was a
humble little four-page sheet, issued from some scrubby little shanty,
while to-day it is one of the wealthiest, as it is one of the largest,
newspapers in the world, housed in a palace that cost $1,500,000 to
build. Its enterprising founder, the late Dr. José Paz, died at Nice a
week or two before I left England and I was later present at the ceremony
of receiving his remains in Buenos Ayres for interment at Recoleta, the
last resting place of the Argentine’s aristocrats. He had built another
palace for the whole Paz family in the Plaza San Martín, one of the most
magnificent buildings in the city and one of the most princely private
residences I have ever seen in any land, but he was not spared to see it
occupied.
If we cross the Avenida and go some four squares down the Calle Defensa
we shall come to one of the few historic buildings in the city—the church
of Our Lady of the Rosary—_Nuestra Señora del Rosario_.
There is nothing worthy of note in its architecture, but in the tower
which surmounts the front entrance—to the north—a number of cannon
balls are embedded in the mortar of which the church is built. These
are said to be relics of the British bombardment of 1806 and within are
the flags which the Spanish viceroy, Liniers (a Frenchman, by the way),
took from the British troops under General Carr Beresford when they
were compelled to surrender to superior forces after their brief and
ill-advised occupation of the citadel from June to August of that year.
Liniers promised the flags of the conquered British to _Nuestra Señora
del Rosario_ before he went forth to engage Beresford on the 12th of
August, and there they hang, objects of no small pride to the patriotic
Argentine. (This on the authority of the native historian, Señor José
Manuel Eizaguirre, though Mr. Cunninghame Graham states that the flags
were taken from the incompetent General Whitelock in his disastrous
attempt to retake the town in 1807, and that they hang in the Cathedral.)
There are indeed few churches in Buenos Ayres that will repay a visit.
All are edifices of little note and, almost without exception, stuck
rather shamefacedly among other buildings where you may pass a dozen
times and never notice them once. Buenos Ayres has other business in hand
than matters of the soul. No one could describe it as an aggressively
religious city. The Jockey Club is more to its taste. It stands rather
more than half-way along the Calle Florida, going from the Avenida
towards the Plaza San Martín. That admirable English word of recent
invention, “swank,” was surely coined by some one familiar with the
Jockey Club of Buenos Ayres. But for the moment I shall not seek to
illustrate this by attempting to describe the spirit that animates this
bizarre and curious institution. In this chapter I am concerned only with
its outward appearance. That is by no means unpleasing, though the façade
of the building is constricted and the narrowness of the street prevents
one from obtaining a satisfactory view of it. It is covered with an
infinity of electric bulbs and no occasion to light these is ever allowed
to pass unregarded. Often have I seen the building aglow like Aladdin’s
Palace in a Drury Lane pantomime and scarce a soul within sight to feast
his eyes on the outward magnificence of this great national institution
which exists for the maintenance of the best breeds of man’s devoted
servant, the horse (_no me parece_, as they say in Buenos Ayres, or “I
_don’t_ think,” as they say elsewhere).
Westward some six or seven squares from Florida one encounters in the
Plaza Lavalle several noteworthy buildings. On the west side of that fine
plaza the new _Tribunales_, or Law Courts, have just been completed,
and Buenos Ayres has nothing finer in the way of architecture to show.
Conceived on a massive scale and carried out with unusual thoroughness
of detail, this is a magnificent palace for the housing of Justice, and
as Justice is by no means blind in the Argentine she will find much in
her palace to occupy her attention, even to distract it from those duties
which in other lands she is supposed best to perform with shut eyes.
Why a style that is reminiscent of Assyria and Byzantium should have
been chosen, I know not, unless Argentine Justice is of Oriental origin;
but the effect is undoubtedly imposing. The six massy columns of the
central façade spring upwards to the height of five tall stories, with a
large sense of strength and permanence, though it is true they begin in
noble stone only to continue upward in concrete. The five entrances are
generously inviting, but every Argentine knows that when he enters there
to lodge a suit Heaven alone can guess how old he will be, how grey his
hairs, when he comes out again with a verdict. Three more stories tower
above the great plinth of the pillars, and over the entrance runs a fine,
spacious colonnade of Ionic columns.
The building of the Tribunales is, in truth, one of the finest palaces
of justice in any great city of the world, exceeded in sheer bulk, so
far as I can remember, only by the Palais de Justice of Brussels, which
is colossal beyond all reason. Even though a vast deal more cement than
enduring stone has gone to its making, it will long remain the most
noteworthy architectural effort in Buenos Ayres, and one cannot look
upon it without feeling a certain reverence for the intentions of its
builders. If Argentine Justice will only endeavour to “live up to” the
dignity of her new home, the citizens of the great young republic will
have reason to congratulate themselves.
[Illustration: A PRINCELY SANCTUM—ROOM OF THE “PRENSA’S” CHIEF EDITOR.]
[Illustration: A CORNER OF THE MEDICAL CONSULTING ROOM OF THE “PRENSA.”]
On the opposite side of the same ample plaza stands the _Teatro Colón_
(Columbus Theatre), the home of the state-aided opera. The citizens
are immensely proud of this fine building and with good reason. Always
allowing for the difference between stone and cement, neither Paris nor
London has anything finer than this palatial theatre. Admirably situated,
it is no less admirably designed. It seems large enough to contain half
a dozen opera houses, and indeed the theatre proper occupies less than
half of the great building. Near the Colón rears its more modest head the
_Colegio Sarmiento_. Sarmiento was one of the greatest men the Argentine
or any other country has produced in modern times. No one did more
than he for the advancement of his native land, and while I would have
preferred to see the _Colón_ dedicated to the memory and the educational
ideals of the famous president, it is perhaps only in accord with the
lessening ideals of our day that amusement and social pretentiousness
should outvie the merely intellectual and useful.
The old _Teatro de la Opera_ still stands and thrives under private
management. No doubt when it was first built it was thought to represent
the last word in architectural grandeur, but a glance at its rococo
façade, wedged between two other buildings in the Calle Corrientes, after
having looked at the _Colón_, will show how rapidly Argentine ideas have
expanded in recent years.
It is scarcely possible to continue an orderly commentary on the public
buildings of Buenos Ayres until one has passed them all in review. There
are too many for that, and many are too similar. Others that I call to
mind particularly at the moment, are the great offices of the Water Works
(_Aguas corrientes_) and the Board of Education (_Junta de education_),
both of which are fine examples of the stately manner in which the
Argentine houses its public departments. The same cannot be said for
the Art Gallery. I am willing to concede that in a young country the
essential things, such as good drinking water and elementary education,
should take precedence over the fine arts, but when so noble a building
as the Colón could have been erected merely to provide society with a
short season of social diversion each year (for we must frankly admit
that it is more a society haunt than a temple of the muse), surely it
might have been possible to do something worthier of the graphic arts!
The art gallery occupies a commanding site on the northeast side of the
Plaza San Martín, but the building is only a second-hand pavilion, bought
from some exhibition (that of St. Louis, I was told) and re-erected here.
It is a gimcrack affair of iron frame, wood and gaudy tiles. Although
it looks quite attractive in a photograph, the shoddy workmanship, the
great chunks of coloured glass, used as items of the decorative scheme,
and the general air of temporariness inseparable from the purpose for
which it was originally designed, leave one with the impression that
the Argentines set a very low value on their art treasures. Yet there
are several canvases in the collection that may be worth more than the
building that houses them. The sooner this trashy pavilion is thrown
on the scrap-heap and a worthy gallery erected, the better for the
reputation of the country in respect to the fine arts.
One other public building there is that calls for note. It is known as
the _Casa de expósitos_, and occupies an airy position on the great
thoroughfare that runs through the district of Barracas—Montes de Oca. It
is an immense building, larger than some of the great London workhouses,
and seems to have an infinity of rooms within. There is no fanciful
treatment of the exterior; all is plain, massive, substantial. The
purpose of this institution is to rear the undesired children of Buenos
Ayres. An _expósito_ is a foundling, and this is the Foundling Hospital
of Buenos Ayres. Unwilling mothers bring their offspring here, leave them
at the door, where they are willingly received “and no questions asked.”
The state does not despise this means of fostering the population, though
it leaves many thousands of infants to die annually for lack of popular
instruction on the rearing of the young and also by permitting the
continuance of social conditions which make the survival of most children
of the labouring class something of a miracle.
When the station of the Central Argentine Railway at Retiro has been
completed, Buenos Ayres will possess one of the finest railway buildings
in the world, but during my stay the termini of that railway and the
B. A. P. were no better than some of the shabbier country stations in
the United States, though the Southern, at Plaza Constitucion, has a
handsome edifice, and the Western, at Plaza Once, quite a presentable
railway station.
And talking of railway stations, I shall make this the end of my journey
round the public buildings of Buenos Ayres—at least for the present. I
have not sought to do more than to give the reader—as in the fleeting
glimpses of a strange land from the window of a speeding train—a rapid
outline of the material Buenos Ayres. This splendid city of sham! If I
may not appear to have been deeply impressed with its beauties which
have been so floridly pictured by more partial pens, that is probably
because I have sought to bear in mind there are other great cities
in the world. To the untravelled British provincial, who has shipped
straight from some English port to the River Plate, I can well imagine
the Argentine metropolis is the greatest wonder of the world. The most
devoted admirer of Buenos Ayres that I met during my stay there was a
gentleman from Kilmarnock, Scotland. He had never seen London; had never
previously been out of his native Scotland; but his ten years in the
Argentine capital had convinced him that it stood unique in the world
and in all time as the most glorious example of the power of man in the
making of cities. That renegade Scot, I quite believe, looks forward with
satisfaction to living out his life there and being hurried one day, some
twenty hours after he dies, to the sweet rest of Chacarita! But he is a
type one may easily allow for (I always show a marked approval of their
well-seasoned opinions) and pass on. The intelligent writer, however, who
so often, from hasty observation or from interested motives, conveys a
too flattering impression of a town does incomparably more harm than a
whole wilderness of inexperienced and unobservant enthusiasts. So many
such writers have already described the outward show of Buenos Ayres as a
sun without spots, that my observations may at least restore the spots.
They are set down in all honesty and with no desire to belittle the truly
commendable things of Buenos Ayres, in appraising which I trust I shall
not be held guilty of any niggard spirit. But, after all, the buildings
of any city are no more than the husk, and though we must break the
shell to come at the kernel, it is on the latter we have our mind in the
progress of the operation. Thus I am in these chapters on the outward
appearance of Buenos Ayres engaged in nothing more than the breaking of
the shell—and perhaps a few well-established illusions at the same time.