SOME PHASES OF SOCIAL LIFE
Here is a subject which every writer on the general life of a town or
a country is expected to deal with, but in the case of Buenos Ayres
one is reminded of the famous, “Story? Lord bless you, there’s none to
tell, sir!” Save, that in being a civilised people, the inhabitants of
the Argentine must needs dwell in communities, “social life,” as we
understand it, is difficult to discover in these communities. Certainly,
a teeming city of nearly a million and a half population, with crowded
streets, palatial houses, theatres, lecture rooms, concert halls,
restaurants, would seem to suggest possibilities of “social life”; but
it happens to be a city mainly devoted to money-making, those who have
already made their money maintaining a centre of social life somewhat
remote from the Calle Florida; as far away, indeed, as the Bois de
Boulogne and the Champs Élysées, for is not Paris the social Mecca of the
successful Argentine?
Still they are few indeed thus privileged, in comparison with the
multitude who have to make the best of things as they are in Buenos
Ayres. Even during the terrible months of summer, those who can afford
to fly from its stifling atmosphere to the rustic surroundings of the
Hills of Córdoba, to the sea-washed shores of Mar del Plata, or to the
still more attractive riverside suburbs of Montevideo, constitute a small
section of the community.
There is, of course, an important section of the community who annually
quit the city to pass the spring and summer months in the “Camp.” These
are the _estancieros_, whose wealth comes entirely from their country
estates, where life in the winter months declines to the nadir of dismal
dulness and discomfort, so that they reside for some seven or eight
months of the year in the city, and remove to the country for the warmer
season, during which time the head of the family may inspect and revise
the work that has been going on in his absence under the direction of his
_mayordomo_, while the members of his family, (which may include what
we would consider half-a-dozen separate “families,” as the patriarchal
system of family life still obtains among the Argentines) will enjoy
themselves in a variety of simple and healthy country pursuits. When
residing in Buenos Ayres, the estancieros who have not placed their
affairs entirely in the hands of estate agents, as is the custom with
those who prefer to live in Paris, maintain offices and clerical staffs
like any other business men, for the work of an Argentine _estancia_
entails a vast amount of organisation.
With the family life of the Argentines, however, I do not for the moment
wish to concern myself, that being a subject of peculiar interest, which
I purpose treating at some length in a later chapter. For the moment, my
endeavour is only to register such evidences of the outward social life
of the people as came within my range of observation during my stay in
Buenos Ayres and my visits to different parts of the country. Conditions
in the capital city differ, of course, in various ways, from those in
the larger provincial towns, such as Rosario, Córdoba, and Mendoza,
and still more widely from the life of the smaller rural communities;
but we must always bear in mind in speaking of the Argentine that more
than a fifth—and the most important fifth—of the entire population is
concentrated in the capital, so that while London is not the embodiment
of England, nor New York of the United States, Buenos Ayres does stand
for Argentina.
In previous chapters I have expressed my feelings of surprise and
disappointment at the unlooked-for dulness of the so-called “Paris of
South America.” Never shall I forget the deadness of our first night in
Buenos Ayres—a deadness that struck us like a nipping wind, chilling
to the bone all hope of bright and entertaining evenings. It was an
impression which the succeeding months, when we maintained a hungry and
pathetic quest for social interest, did but little to remove. Perhaps it
was due in some degree to the grossly exaggerated and misleading pictures
of the city spread abroad by writers more intent on flattery and official
patronage than on the simple narration of the truth. Almost alone among
the many who have written on the life of Buenos Ayres, M. Jules Huret has
ventured to hint at the appalling dulness of the social life and the lack
of interest, especially for those of the younger generation.
The most vital factor in determining the social life of any community
is, perhaps, the position of the womenfolk. In this respect, there
is probably no city in the world on which so much has been written,
yet concerning which the untravelled reader entertains more erroneous
ideas. For this we have chiefly to thank the sensational journalism of
Europe and North America, which, on the flimsiest of bases, has built
up in the public mind the conception of Buenos Ayres as the metropolis
of Vice, the world’s mart of the White Slave Traffic. Bearing in mind
much of what has been written on this unsavoury topic, and more that is
circulated world-wide in irresponsible gossip, the visitor might expect
to find the outward conditions of New York, London and Paris reproduced
on a many-times magnified scale. Nothing could be further from the
truth. There are no large cities that I have visited in Europe or North
America,—and I have visited most of them—outwardly so free of social
offence as Buenos Ayres and the other great cities of South America.
By comparison, New York, Chicago, New Orleans, even Washington and
Philadelphia, would seem sinks of iniquity. Go to the races at Palermo,
visit any theatre in Buenos Ayres, with two or perhaps three exceptions,
dine at any of the few restaurants where a good meal is obtainable,
wander the streets at any hour of the day or night, and you will never
have a moment’s embarrassment from the social pest which obtrudes itself
so flauntingly in New York or London. This is one of the few things they
regulate better in Buenos Ayres. All places of public resort are barred
to the _demi-mondaine_, and as she is officially known, this makes for
a certain surface cleanliness of society, which is doubtless a delusion
so far as the essential morals of the people are concerned, and may be
written down an organised hypocrisy, but the outward evidences are as
stated and not otherwise.
Furthermore, I know of no cleaner journalism than that of South America.
Even the papers of the Anglo-Saxon world compare unfavourably in this
respect; yes, those we deem highly “respectable”! One might expect to
find among a Latin people something of the Continental levity in the
treatment of this subject, but for propriety and sobriety, I do not
believe it would be possible to better the journals, even of the lighter
class, which are published in Buenos Ayres. They are almost absurdly
respectable; the result, it may be, of a very obvious lack of humour
in the people. A further consideration is the intense devotion of the
Argentine to family life, and to family life of an almost Moorish
exclusiveness, so that, with very few exceptions, almost any publication
issuing in Buenos Ayres may safely pass from the hands of the parents
into those of the youngest children.
This will be something of a revelation to many of my readers, but when
I come to deal with “The Argentine at Home,” the factors which make for
this outward cleanliness of social life will become apparent.
On the other hand, the position of the Argentine woman, which so vitally
affects the social life of the country, corresponds in no way to
Anglo-Saxon notions, and explains much of the dulness, artificiality,
and insincerity it is my immediate business to describe. I remember very
well reading in the pages of M. Huret’s admirable work _Del Plata á la
Cordillera de los Andes_:
An Argentine assured me that, on meeting in the street a lady
whom he had known in his youth, and whom he is entitled to
address familiarly (_á la cual tutea_), he is careful not to
stop and speak to her, lest in doing so he might compromise the
lady.
Indeed, this Argentine informed the French writer that in such a case he
preferred not to notice the lady at all, but to look away from her! Here,
surely, is a suggestive fact. The statement seemed to me so remarkable
that I raised the point with various Argentines, and always had it
confirmed, one gentleman assuring me that he would not even go so far as
to pause for a moment to speak in the street with his sister-in-law if
she were unaccompanied. He thought it was an extremely foolish social
custom but considered it was one to which every gentleman was bound to
conform.
[Illustration: MARBLE FOUNTAIN IN THE GARDENS OF THE PASEO COLÓN.]
[Illustration: PLAZA FRANCIA IN THE AVENIDA ALVEAR.
The memorial is an offering of the French “Colony” to the Argentine on
its Centenary in 1910. Various monuments, the gifts of other “Colonies,”
ornament different parts of the capital city.]
It will thus be seen at a glance that one form of social intercourse so
familiar to us does not exist in the Argentine, which country is typical
in this of almost all the South American Republics. How far this must
condition the social life, any one can guess. The women are permitted
some measure of freedom until they become engaged, and may, under strict
chaperonage, attend formal receptions and balls, where the stiffest of
starchy manners are _de rigueur_. But after marriage, they withdraw to
the seclusion of their own homes and devote themselves to the care of
their families, seldom taking part in any social gaieties, even going
very little to the theatre.
One consequence of this is an extraordinary preponderance of men at all
places of amusement. I am probably under-estimating the proportion when
I say that in almost any audience, with the exception of that at the
Teatro Colón, seventy-five per cent. would be men. More, I have often
deemed it a pathetic commentary on the arid life of the place to enter
one of the many cinematograph theatres and note the rows upon rows of
men, with no more than a handful of women sprinkled among them. Often
in an audience numbering probably five hundred, there would not be more
than a dozen ladies and most of these foreigners. It is a condition of
things that tends to perpetuate itself, as my wife, even with me at her
side, always felt a little ill at ease where so few of her sex seemed
to be expected, although, without exception, the entertainments might
have been arranged for a party of Sunday-school children, especially if
it contained a number of “Budges” who revelled in “bluggy” subjects, as
hairbreadth escapes and the adventures of Nick Winter, Sherlock (often
rendered “Shylock”) Holmes, and other preposterous “detectives” were the
staple fare.
This tremendous overplus of men in the places of amusement admits of
two explanations. First, we have the unusual social custom which allows
of the husband acting as vicarious pleasure-seeker for wife and family,
so that no Argentine lady complains when her husband goes out alone to
the theatre and winds up the night at his club, returning long after
she has been asleep! Secondly, we have to remember that in all cities
populated chiefly by emigrants, large numbers of single men are to be
encountered. It is the experience of business people in Buenos Ayres who
employ considerable staffs, that a large proportion of their workers
are youngish men who seem to be absolutely without family ties or
attachments of any kind, lonely wanderers from the far lands of Europe.
A further influence militating against the womenkind enjoying such
entertainment as is to be found in Buenos Ayres is the widespread area of
the city. With a population not very much larger than half that of Paris,
Buenos Ayres occupies vastly more space, owing to the system of one-story
houses, which is still universal beyond the congested business area of
the town. The tram service, one of the best regulated in the world, as
it is also one of the cheapest, affords only a very inadequate means of
communication between the further suburbs and the theatre district, in
Maipú and Esmeralda, while the primitive state of the Suburban roadways
make travel by coach, or taxicab, a hazardous and painful experience.
So it happens that we find nowhere those bright and attractive supper
restaurants with merry groups of pleasure-seekers, men and women,
discussing the play they have just come from; but, in their place, many
cafés, exclusively occupied by soft-hatted men smoking and drinking. The
most pretentious restaurant in the city shuts its doors immediately after
dinner, and even during dinner the ladies are always in an insignificant
minority. Gaiety, forsooth! Who comes to look for that in Buenos Ayres
has undertaken one of the most barren of pursuits.
As for the character of the resorts, little that is favourable can
be said. I remember with what delight I used to scan the theatre
advertisements in the columns of _La Prensa_ before I sailed for the
River Plate, and what pleasures we promised ourselves, my wife and
I, when the day’s work would be done! Places of amusement there are
in abundance, and their advertisements make a brave showing in the
newspapers, but there are rarely more than two, or it may be three,
entertainments that are worthy of a visit. South America is the
happy hunting ground of all sorts of incompetent Spanish actors and
draggle-tailed Spanish dramatic companies. To see “The Merry Widow,”
“Casta Susana,” or “The Count of Luxembourg” performed by a company
destitute of vocal talent, with shabby, misfit scenery, and a wardrobe
so poverty stricken that not a single actor wears a suit of his size
(the whole company of them resembling, in evening dress, a scratch lot
of waiters from a Soho chop-house), the orchestra clad in the motliest
mixture of tweed suits, while the voice of the prompter, whose sweaty
shirt sleeves obtrude from his ugly box in the fore-front of the stage,
is heard above that of the actor—to witness this is by no means a
delectable experience; yet such is the manner of the fare most frequently
offered in the theatres of the city.
True, from time to time excellently organised Spanish and Italian
companies do occupy the principal theatres, and once a year there is
a visit from some eminent French actor, with a picked company, but on
the whole dramatic entertainment is pitifully poor, the pieces being
staged in a slovenly and inadequate style. The State-aided Opera, which
has its home in the great Columbus Theatre, is, of course, a national
institution, and as such plays a very important part in the social
life of the richer classes, though the bulk of the people have never
seen more than the outside of the building. Opera is here staged as
perfectly as in the finest opera-houses of Europe, and not a few “stars”
first twinkled in Buenos Ayres before their magnitude was recognised in
London or Paris. On the strength of the Opera, Buenos Ayres enjoys the
reputation of being a very musical city. In the _paraíso_, or gallery,
you might discover a considerable number of Italians who had been
attracted to the Colón out of a genuine delight in the performance, but
in most other parts of the house, and most of all in the highly-priced
boxes, the people are there to see each other: the ladies to study the
dresses of the other ladies, the gentlemen to display in the persons of
their wives and daughters the substantial condition of their banking
accounts—or of their credit. Nay, even during the most dramatic parts of
“Aïda,” “Manon Lescaut,” or “Otello,” I have seen quite as many ladies
in the audience with their backs to the stage, chattering to friends, as
there were others following the play. And in the _cazuela_ (a word which
in domestic use signifies a stew, and theatrically a gallery reserved
entirely for ladies—also something of a stew) the chattering between
the fan-flapping occupants is so continuous that on a sudden lowering
of the music one is sure to hear voices from the cazuela ringing out by
contrast. For the rest, the Opera is a function conducted with the most
tremendous gravity, and although the season is comparatively short (and
usually unprofitable to the impresarios), it is not without its uses in
enabling the native community to see a little more of each other than
the restrictions of their social life would otherwise allow. To the
stranger, however, it is socially useless, and to the mere lover of
music who could appreciate the excellence of its representations, it is
almost prohibitively expensive, unless he or she is brave enough to incur
the odium of being “spotted” in the five shilling gallery or paraíso,
where no English resident of any position in the town would condescend to
ascend. The consequence is, you will seldom meet an English resident who
has ever been to a performance in the Colón.
Of recent years, a movement in the direction of providing healthier
entertainment of a varied description for the family circle on certain
afternoons of the week, much after the style of the American vaudeville,
has been growing. Thus, on Saturday and Sunday afternoons during our
stay, one used to see many ladies and young children at the Casino,
but at night it was the rarest thing to discover in the whole crowded
theatre a respectable woman. Occasionally, an American or English lady
ventured with her husband to one of the boxes, where it was possible
to sit behind a screen and see the performance without being seen, but
every seat in the pit, the circle, and the galleries was occupied by a
man, and invariably there would be at least one turn that was highly
objectionable, and rendered the more so by the conduct of the audience,
who, slow to respond to anything which the Anglo-Saxon mind recognises
as humour, have an ever-ready nose for suggestiveness, and when that is
forthcoming, do not merely laugh at it, but render it the more offensive
by uttering all sorts of obscene noises.
The Casino, the Theatre Royal, the Scala, and the Parisiana, during my
stay, whatever may be the case now, were the evening haunts of the
younger men. The first named was the only one that attempted anything
like vaudeville entertainment, the majority of the _artistes_ being
usually American or English, and the difficulty of maintaining a
programme was so great that the management had to content themselves with
what they could get in the shape of second- and third-rate “turns” from
overseas, so that often the variety was not remarkable, two or three
groups of comic acrobats being included in one programme, and we all know
that there is no variety in comic acrobats. The other three resorts were
deplorable imitations of the Parisian houses that specialise in _revues_.
With the exception of the Casino, these theatres were all so small that
they would not have been considered suitable in America for more than
lecture rooms or “picture” halls. The revues were usually so stupid,
the scenery so contemptible, the performers so inferior, that I always
felt sorry the audience had nothing better to do than waste their time
in such inanity. French was the language of the revues, with occasional
Spanish songs and interludes, and there was only one joke which seemed to
have a universal appeal—some reference to “606.” Examples: A miserable
youth comes on to visit a burlesque doctor. He begins explaining how he
had met a young lady in a restaurant, using words of the most suggestive
character, each sentence containing a pun on a number. “Ah,” says the
doctor, “your case must be treated arithmetically.” As the patient
proceeds with his tale, the doctor seizes on every punning phrase
containing a number, jots these down on a slate, adds the lot up, result
909; but reversing the slate he exhibits to the audience “606.” Then
there is feeble laughter of fools! Or a young lady has a song of the
telephone, and the refrain is “Please give me number 606.” Faugh! But
the spectacle of an English acrobat on the Casino stage, dressed as a
Highlandman, who at certain times pulled a string that raised the back
part of his kilt and displayed “606” painted on the seat of his “shorts”
filled me with disgust. (Perhaps it should be explained that “606” is a
cure for syphilis.)
The music in these revues usually consisted of a _rechauffé_ of such
up-to-date tunes as “Ta, ra, ra, boom de ay!” “A Bicycle Built for Two,”
“There are nice girls everywhere,” and many others that have run their
little day in the “halls” of New York and London. In a word, anything
more despicable in the matter of entertainment could not be conceived,
yet in these poor, pitiful play-houses the young men and older bucks of
Buenos Ayres were supposed to be “seeing life.”
At one of the theatres mentioned, a group of fourteen English girls were
employed as dancers and singers practically all the time I stayed in
Buenos Ayres. They would certainly have found the greatest difficulty in
earning a livelihood in the same way in their own land, and it made me
sad to hear their poor thin voices uttering some drivel about “coons”
and “moons” which to me was only partially intelligible in my native
language, and must have been so much meaningless rubbish to the majority
of the audience. The few painted ladies who frequented those places in
the evenings were a sorrowful group of regular attenders, admitted, I
believe, at half price, and gave the final touch of squalid meanness to
the scene.
[Illustration: PRIZE BULLS AT THE AGRICULTURAL SHOW IN BUENOS AYRES.]
So much for the “gaiety” of Buenos Ayres! The reader will probably now
begin to realise what an attractive place it is for the young American
or Britisher. Poor young man, there is no one for whom I feel more pity.
He is at his wits’ end for wholesome amusement after business hours, and
his case is even worse than that of the young Frenchman or the Spaniard,
who can occasionally, at least, enjoy some reasonably good performance
in his native tongue, for English dramatic companies cannot possibly
find sufficient support to warrant the expense of the long voyage out
and back. When I come to deal with the life of the British community,
I shall describe the straits they are put to for social amusement and
distraction, and the ingenuity with which they contrive to render their
lives a little less unpleasant than circumstances conspire to make them.
But in the general social life of the town, the English take little or no
part, keeping to themselves with their usual exclusiveness, rendered the
greater here by the almost impenetrable barrier which the _criollos_, or
older native families present to all advances from without.
In this regard, the British are not singular, as the French, German,
Spanish, Italian, and other nationalities all maintain in a very marked
degree their racial sympathies, although assimilating more quickly
with the native element in the matter of language, which remains the
great stumbling block of the Anglo-Saxons. Each community maintains its
own clubs, with many sub-divisions among Italians and Spaniards, the
Neapolitans, for instance, having their meeting-places apart from other
Italians—indeed most decent Italians refuse to recognise the Neapolitans
as fellow-countrymen—and, among Spaniards, the Asturians especially
maintaining their local patriotism and racial interests in this way.
These clubs, almost innumerable, afford the men a common meeting place to
discuss their fortunes in the new land of promise and to recall their old
days at home, and as the social side of them includes frequent concerts,
banquets, and balls, the women of the company have also opportunities for
appearing in their best clothes and seeing photographs of themselves in
groups published in _Caras y Caretas_, the principal illustrated weekly,
whose every issue contains a large number of such items.
The social side of journalism is even more highly developed in Buenos
Ayres and in South America generally than in North America, so that one
judging only by the newspapers and the illustrated periodicals might
suppose there was nowhere in the world such sociability as in these Latin
Republics. In Buenos Ayres and in Montevideo elaborate _guías sociales_
are published annually, containing lists of “At-home Days” and other
information of a personal character, while _La Prensa_, _La Nacion_, _El
Diario_, and all the other newspapers devote whole columns daily to the
movements of the local nobodies. No possible occasion for a _banquete_ is
allowed to pass, and to the English reader _Caras y Caretas_ is a weekly
joy, with its dozens of photographs of these quaint little functions.
Señor Don Alonso Moreno Martínez (let us say) is going to Rio de Janeiro
on business for two or three weeks. The friends of Don Alonso thereupon
ask him to dine with them at the Sportsman Restaurant, where, in two
hours’ time, they will demolish a quite eatable dinner of five or six
courses. Meanwhile, one of the ten or fifteen hosts of Don Alonso has
taken care to warn the photographer of _Caras y Caretas_, of _Fray
Mocho_, and perhaps of _P. B. T._, and these three photographers turn up
in the course of the two hours, make flashlight photographs of the little
handful of diners, none of whom will be in evening dress, the group
presenting the oddest assortment of clothes, and, behold, in the next
issues of these widely circulated periodicals, excellent reproductions of
the said photographs, inscribed: “Banquet offered by his friends to Señor
Don Alonso Moreno Martínez, in view of his departure for Rio de Janeiro,
where he will absent himself for a few weeks on affairs of importance.”
It is no exaggeration to say that thousands of these photographs are
published yearly in the pictorial press, and when the honoured guest is
a little more important than my imaginary Don Alonso, then the big daily
newspapers are pleased to publish the photograph, while the provinces
send up to Buenos Ayres scores of them every week. It is all very
pathetic, but very eloquent of the low level of social interest.
Even the Races, so important an institution in Buenos Ayres, are
conducted in a way that almost entirely eliminates the social element.
Among the vast crowd that frequent the splendid course at Palermo on
Thursday and Sunday afternoons, except in the enclosure belonging to the
Jockey Club, very few women are to be seen. The men are there in mobs,
not to enjoy the races, in which they take no genuine sportive interest,
but in the hope of making a bit of money. An American lady said to me she
had never been at so quiet a demonstration before; she considered King
Edward’s funeral was altogether a livelier ceremony! The undemonstrative
character of the people is, to us supposedly phlegmatic Anglo-Saxons,
really extraordinary. I have an impression that it arises from an inborn
laziness of character which is not altogether foreign to their nature.
They are chary of giving applause in the theatre, and they sit dull and
motionless before the most exciting films in the picture palaces. At the
Races there is a feeling of sullen determination to get back twenty pesos
or more for the two they have speculated.
With all this lack of wholesome interest in life, outside the brute
struggle for the dollar, it is not surprising that there should be a
widespread devotion to gambling and the card table, most of the social
centres already mentioned being also resorts of gamblers. And with all
its veneer of socialness, there is no genuine public spirit throughout
the heterogeneous community. In a minor way this was illustrated in
February of 1913, when, owing to certain regulations which the Chancellor
of the Exchequer imposed upon the shops selling drugs and perfumes,
some 1,340 hairdressers and about 400 drugshops declared themselves
“on strike” by temporarily closing their premises, to the serious
inconvenience of the invalids and the dandies. The action drew forth the
strongest denunciation of the Press for its anti-humanitarian character,
but I noticed that quite as much sympathy was expressed with the male
population who would thus be placed under the painful necessity of
shaving themselves for a day or two, as with the suffering humanity
whose need for medicine makes the druggist’s one of the most successful
businesses in the city.
There is truly little humanitarian feeling evident in the social life
of Buenos Ayres, although the organisation of the _Asistencia pública_
is in every respect admirable and its first aid to the injured and the
sick leaves nothing to be desired. The Hospital organisation into whose
care the patient passes after leaving the hands of the Asistencia is by
no means so well conducted, so that while you may rely on being taken
to a hospital in the best possible way, Heaven help you after you have
been left there! While it is true that the Argentine is far in advance of
most of the other republics in its provisions for public vaccination, and
also in its sane policy of making vaccination compulsory, the official
treatment of disease always seemed to me to suggest a nervous dread of
the possibilities, a feverish readiness to test all the latest European
innovations for its suppression. The memory of past plagues is a potent
factor in this; recollections and traditions of the devastations wrought
in Buenos Ayres by Yellow Jack a generation ago do much to spread the
nervousness when there is any whisper of epidemics in other South
American ports.
January 29, 1913, was the second anniversary of the first great epidemic
of yellow fever that decimated the population of Buenos Ayres, and the
anniversary coincided with an outbreak of bubonic plague in the northern
city of Tucumán. The occasion was seized by the very competent and
vigorous writer of “Topics of the Day” in the Buenos Ayres _Standard_
to deliver an excellent homily on “Disease as a Hygienist.” From this I
quote a few passages which I think worthy of attention, coming as they do
from the pen of an outspoken local critic:
Unfortunately government as an art is not understood to
include or embrace hygiene. Politics concern themselves only
with the passions of the people, and the detriment thereof.
The oft-quoted tag: “the health (_sic_) of the people is the
supreme law,” is remembered only when an orator is anxious
to display his erudition, or when he feels in a particularly
cynical mood. The “supreme law,” as every one knows, is to get
what you can, when you can, how you can, but get it!
Not merely in the Provinces is hygiene neglected. The big
cities are great culprits in this matter. Some years ago the
city of Rosario was visited by bubonic plague. Instantly it
was placed in a state of siege. Trains from outside were
not allowed to enter, nor were passengers allowed to leave
without “a thorough disinfection.” They and their luggage were
submitted to the process, which gave them a disagreeable odour,
but, unfortunately, gave immunity to no one. The outbreak was,
as a matter of fact, too benevolent to cause wide alarm in
Rosario, but it had a wonderful influence in stimulating the
city authorities. As if by some enchantment, the old fœtid
system of cesspools in the centre of the city was done away
with and modern sanitation installed. Legions of homeless dogs
were summarily caught and mercifully asphyxiated. The vigorous
broom of reform was wielded unceasingly for a few months, and
Rosario smelled sweeter in consequence. But much still remains
to be done in Rosario. In Buenos Ayres the old problem of
sanitation is now in course of solution, a comprehensive and
stupendous scheme being in course of execution. Still there
are places in the outskirts that would serve as nurseries for
exotic disease-germs. Unfortunately, too, the _conventillos_
are full of children and adults predisposed by heredity, by
malnutrition and unwholesome surroundings, to fall victims to,
and propagate, any passing epidemic....
The fact is, it is difficult, if not impossible, to find a
city, town or village in Argentina that can boast of adequate
sanitary arrangements. The smaller the place the greater the
problem. But to listen to Argentine orators, in Congress or
out of Congress, it might be thought that this country had
absolutely nothing to worry about but the unsatisfactory
political conditions of the Provinces and the country. Whole
sessions are devoted to a sterile debate upon the alleged
covert intervention of the National authorities in the mean
and pettifogging “politics” of the Provinces. But never a
word about the squalor that is endemic in the cities and
towns of these politician-ridden, quasi-autonomous States.
Should Nemesis come along she will exact heavy retribution for
culpable loss of time and opportunity, sacrificed in order that
glib orators may air their ineffective gifts.
Clearly social hygiene is not yet a strong point in the Argentine,
where 62 per cent. of deaths among children born in the country are due
to malnutrition and errors of diet. Think of the folly of it! A land
clamouring for population, inviting immigrants of all races, yet allowing
a high percentage of its new-born citizens to perish owing to the lack
of humanitarianism in its social system. The life of the individual is
valued lightly in the Argentine and in any sort of society where the
welfare of the component atoms is deemed of no importance, the basis upon
which to rear the fabric of social well-being is insecure.
As an illustration of the poor stuff out of which the social life of
Buenos Ayres has to be constructed, note the following, which I reprint
from the Buenos Ayres _Standard_:
“Those who live in glass houses should pull the blinds down”
is an old axiom worth keeping in mind. Although not exactly a
glass house, there is a hotel in Calle Cangallo. A bedroom in
the ground floor has two large windows fronting the street.
Last night both these windows were surrounded by an admiring
crowd. An Englishman who happened to pass naturally stopped
to look at the attraction. This consisted of a young and
exceedingly pretty woman who had “divested” herself and got
into bed, quite oblivious of the fact that the _persianas_
(lattice shutters) were wide open. The evening was warm, and
as she slept the sleep of the just, she exhibited even more
of the human form divine than would be considered discreet by
a classical dancer. The admiring crowd freely criticised the
sleeping beauty and made no attempt whatever to arouse her to a
sense of her position. Our English friend promptly entered the
hotel, explained matters, and a maid promptly entering the room
switched off the light, to the accompaniment of a chorus of
groans from those who stood without.
[Illustration: SUMMER SCENES ON THE TIGRE, THE RIVER RESORT NEAR BUENOS
AYRES]
The lax organisation of the police is largely to blame for the lack of
social sweetness throughout the Argentine. The officials of the force
embrace every type of mankind from honest devoted servants of the public
to the lowest of “grafters” and murderers. They are constantly swaying
between excess of zeal and absolute indifference, or active participation
in criminality. Here is a typical case as reported in the daily press:
The Buenos Ayres 17th police have been accused of a serious
abuse of authority. According to the accusers, a young couple
engaged to be married were arrested in the Plaza Francia
because they were seated on a bench talking. Conveyed to the
_comisaría_, the two prisoners were confined in separate rooms,
and one of the two police officials, it is alleged, assaulted
the young woman in a most cowardly and repulsive manner. The
case has been referred to the Chief of Police.
That is all I ever heard of the matter. Almost daily all sorts of police
scandals come to light in the press, show their ugly heads for a moment,
as it were, then slip out of sight, “no more being heard of the matter.”
A similar case to that just quoted came to my knowledge, in which two
Gringos figured unhappily. A young lady arrived from England to marry
her sweetheart, who was employed in Buenos Ayres. On the second night of
her arrival, they strolled to the Plaza San Martín, and, forgetful of
the strange amenities of local society, behaved in the “spoony” fashion
of a loving couple in a London park. They were promptly arrested and
passed the rest of the night in prison. The creature who would arrest
them might be a half-breed Indian, himself capable of any crime, but not
understanding that Gringos are accustomed to do their love-making in the
open!
Quaintly enough, the police are often the ravishers of helpless women.
Once during our stay a young woman was forcibly taken by two men in a
taxicab to the woods at Palermo and there criminally assaulted by them,
while a _vigilante_ “kept the coast clear.” The men then decamped, and
the zealous agent of Argentine law himself committed a further criminal
assault on the unfortunate woman. The police have even been known—though
this predated our stay in the town—to seize a woman in the street,
conduct her to a house and assault her!
With the police as active agents in wrong-doing, the social life of
the country could not be other than it is. Nay, when one has listened
to many stories of official turpitude, the surprise is that so much
approximating to modern civilised conditions should be able to survive
in the Argentine. Although probably more in place in my chapter on the
Emigrants, I am tempted to relate here, for the lurid light it throws on
certain sections of Argentine society, one of several stories told to me
by an Italian doctor, who had practised for some twelve years, first in a
provincial town and afterwards in the Federal capital.
A countryman of his came to the Argentine, with his young wife and
infant daughter. In Italy he had been a small market-gardener, and in
the new Land of Promise he started in a humble way as a cultivator of
potatoes and vegetables near a country town some thirty-five miles from
Buenos Ayres. Modest prosperity attended his efforts, and in their
rudely built and sparely furnished little _rancho_, the couple lived
happily and contentedly with their little daughter. Some years of
increasing prosperity passed in this way, and the Italian was able to
acquire a little more land. Meanwhile, a slight friendship had sprung
up between him and the local _comisario_, who, in riding past, would
occasionally dismount and enter the rancho, or take a seat in the shade
of the rude verandah, to share a bottle of wine with the Italian and
his wife. Indeed, the story as told to me by the doctor, with the warm,
imaginative touch which the Italian imports from his native tongue into
the Spanish, was quite idyllic up to this point, but here enters the
element of tragedy.
It so happened that the young wife, her husband’s junior by some eight or
ten years, was even more beautiful than the average woman of her class,
admittedly the most beautiful of peasant women. At first the Italian was
flattered by the friendship of the police officer, whose good-will it was
desirable to retain, if all sorts of oppressive restrictions hampering
the development of the _ranchero’s_ work were to be avoided—but later, he
began to wonder whether this friendship sprang entirely from good feeling
towards himself, or whether the comisario was casting an envious eye
upon the young wife. Suddenly awakened to the possibilities of this, and
being, in common with most of his race, a man of passionate nature, the
Italian forthwith determined to remove from the district to some place
where he hoped his wife might be free from any possible persecution and
he from being tempted to the usual extreme of the Italian husband whose
honour has been assailed.
Selling his plots and belongings for much less than he might have secured
had he cared to wait a favourable offer, he removed some forty miles
away, leaving no clue as to his address. In this new locality he acquired
a similar piece of land, set about the erection of a new rancho and the
preparation of his soil. Here he opined his wife would at least be safe
from the attentions of the official, and he determined he would exercise
greater care in preventing the comisario of the new district from setting
eyes on her, for he had now realised, what all his countrymen in the
Argentine come speedily to understand, that a good-looking wife is one
of the most dangerous possessions an emigrant can take with him to the
new land. Quietly the couple went about their business for a time, the
wife actively assisting in the work of the little farm. The shadow of
the evil comisario seemed to have passed. But it was not so. Annoyed at
being baulked of his prey, that ruffian had carefully followed up the
disappearance of the Italian couple and traced them to their new place of
abode. This he managed by the simple process of sending out an official
description to all the surrounding _comisarías_, describing the couple
and asking for news of them to be forwarded to him, as though they were
fugitives from justice! And so it happened that, after a few more months
of peaceful industry, the Italian was horrified one day to see his wife’s
persecutor riding down the main street of the town, in company with the
local chief of police. Scenting evil afoot, he hastened home to warn his
wife, and make preparations for eventualities.
That very evening the comisario, accompanied by a local vigilante, called
at the house and demanded admission, declaring they held an order for the
arrest of the Italian. The latter’s response was to discharge a revolver
point blank at the police agent, whom he grievously wounded,—the officer
keeping out of range. The latter then withdrew, only to return with two
more agents, and several roughs from a neighbouring café. Acting on his
instructions, the gang attacked the house, the two vigilantes being
killed by the Italian before he was overpowered and bound to the rough
wooden posts of the inner wall. The comisario and the scoundrels who
accompanied him now criminally assaulted the young wife and daughter
before the eyes of the helpless man, and eventually left, carrying away
with them the mother and child, only when the outraged husband seemed to
have been rendered raving mad.
Later, several agents were sent from the local comisaría to remove the
now almost lifeless Italian, who had been seriously injured in the mêlée
and crippled for life owing to the wanton brutality of those who broke
into his rancho. He was lodged in jail, and after many months was tried
and sentenced to some five years’ imprisonment for the shooting of the
two agents sent to arrest him. Surviving the prison ordeal, he was
eventually released, though crippled, beggared, and hopeless. But the
Italian spirit of revenge burned fiercely within his shattered frame, and
obtaining one of the deadly stilettos with which his countrymen are all
too familiar, within a few months of regaining his freedom, he succeeded,
in the most dramatic manner, in killing not only the comisario who had
worked such havoc with his life, but also the brother officer who had so
callously aided and abetted him. The one he despatched in a café; the
other in his private room at the police station, allowing himself to be
arrested immediately thereafter. Of his ultimate fate the Italian doctor
could not speak, but he assured me the facts were as stated, and that
the man was personally known to him. Nor did he know what sinister fate
befell the wife and daughter. Such is one of the little tragedies of the
Argentine, and one that I have been assured by those who know is typical
of numberless unwritten chapters in its social life.
It may be objected that the killing of the officer in a restaurant
and being able to escape to a distant town and kill another, seems
improbable; but this you will understand when you know what happens in
the event of a public murder in the Argentine. I remember walking along
Calle Maipú, in Buenos Ayres, soon after my arrival, when suddenly seven
or eight people bolted out of a small café, the entrance to which was
down some steps, and whence came the screams of a woman. Presently two
policemen came hurrying along and disappeared within. Everybody near the
scene took care to avoid the immediate vicinity of the café, lest he
might be arrested as a witness! What had happened was this. A man had
been shot dead, and his body was lying in the café, where only an old
woman who attended the bar remained, every one who had been in the place
at the time of the murder incontinently bolted. And well for them that
they did so, as it is the custom of the police to make indiscriminate
arrests of witnesses in the neighbourhood of any crime that has been
committed, and these helpless witnesses are lodged in gaol and treated
with greater rigour than the perpetrator of the deed! So notorious is
this ludicrous procedure, that there is a saying in Buenos Ayres, “It is
better to be a murderer than a witness,” and consequently an enormous
number of crimes pass unpunished for the simple reason that no one who
values his personal safety cares to come forward as a witness.
The nature of the crimes perpetrated daily throughout Argentina is such
that the Anglo-Saxon mind revolts at the mere thought of human beings
existing who could be guilty of such enormities. But it is only fair to
say that in these crimes of passion and violence, the native Argentine is
seldom involved, the lower class Italian, and especially the Neapolitan,
being the worst offender. Indeed the Italian doctor who told me the story
related above was careful to explain that neither of the comisarios who
played such villainous parts were Argentines of pure descent, but were
Spanish-Italians. One has only to note the names of the persons concerned
in the cases reported in the Press to realise that Italy, and especially
that hotbed of vice and criminality of which Naples is the centre, is
responsible for the largest percentage of the inhuman outrages that stain
the records of the Argentine.
As I have hinted, the Gringo who gets himself involved in any sort of
dispute with the police is likely to regret it. The only safe course is
to avoid at all costs the intervention of the legal authorities. When
one must go to law, then care must be taken to ensure the proper course
of justice, either by judicious bribery or personal influence! I have
known of cases in the United States where it has been necessary “to
purchase justice,” particularly one important judgment which was only
placed beyond doubt by liberally feeing the judges. Similarly, the honest
man who meekly sits down, and out of his unworldliness allows “justice”
to take its course in the Argentine, without doing something to help it
along, may live to regret his scrupulousness.
An English acquaintance whose sense of justice is so abnormally developed
that he would go to law about the most trumpery matter rather than submit
to what he felt to be an injustice, one morning had to make some calls
in Buenos Ayres, and, hailing a coach from the rank in front of the
hotel, he drove to his first appointment, a matter of some ten minutes,
asking the driver—an Italian—to wait for him at a certain point a few
hundred yards distant, where coaches were permitted to stand. But after
discharging his business and going to the place in question, he could not
find the coach. The driver had evidently accepted another fare, hoping
to get back in time for my friend. But, behold him at the hotel in the
evening, demanding payment of fifteen or sixteen pesos, on the ground
that he had waited several hours for the return of the traveller, and
only gave up hope of his coming back when it was nearing dinner time!
The Englishman declined to disgorge six or seven dollars for his ten
minutes’ coach drive, and offered two pesos, exactly double the amount
he had legally incurred up to the time of leaving the coach, and thus
allowing for the time he had ordered the coachman to wait. This the
man indignantly refused, quitting the hotel with vows of vengeance on
the Englishman who, by the way, had only a smattering of the language,
or sufficient to indicate in a crude and gesticulative manner what he
required.
[Illustration: VIEWS OF MAR DEL PLATA.
In the second picture the large building of “El Club,” the gambling
centre during the short bathing season, is seen, and the bottom
illustration shows the new “Rambla” or promenade of cement structure
which has supplanted a rickety wooden one.]
Next morning, or it may have been the next again, when walking along the
Calle Florida, our Gringo was surprised to find himself stopped by a
policeman, with whom was the cochero, and requested to accompany them to
the comisaría. He gave the agente to understand, as well as he could by
gesture and some of his odd Spanish words, that he would go with him in
a coach, but would not be taken on foot through the streets. Eventually
this was agreed to, and thus they reached the police station, where some
hours passed before the magistrate could or would inquire into the case.
In vain did the prisoner claim permission to communicate with the
British Minister, and when at length he was brought before the judge,
it was clear that gentleman had made up his mind on the story already
told by the cabman, which was naturally a tissue of lies. A request for
an interpreter was at first refused, the magistrate saying he believed
the Gringo understood well enough what was being said to and about him,
but on continued protest, an interpreter was called, and he made it his
first business to interpret nothing said either by the magistrate or by
the accused, but advised the latter to pay up and get out of the court
at once. Mr. Gringo, being a particularly stiff-necked British type,
insisted that having incurred the trouble of being arrested, he would not
now pay one centavo more than he had offered the cochero at the hotel,
and demanded that his side of the case should be fully interpreted to the
magistrate. Even this seemed to make no impression on the enlightened
administrator of the law, who stated that the simple fact remained that
the coachman had been engaged and had not been discharged, and that
evidently the accused had not taken sufficient pains to make sure that
the coachman was not waiting for him at the appointed time and place,
the prosecutor producing a lying witness who swore to seeing him at the
appointed place and at the time stated.
At this juncture the Englishman again in the most emphatic way instructed
the interpreter to insist on having the case adjourned until he could
have time to communicate with the British Minister, as he was willing
even to run the risk of a night in jail rather than accede to any order
of Court that seemed to him unjust. His request was again dismissed as
irrelevant, the matter being one entirely for the consideration of the
police judge. Then, suddenly recollecting that at the moment of his
arrest he was on the way to visit a very influential Argentine with
whom he had business relations, and who took a prominent part in local
politics, he suggested that he be permitted to communicate with this
gentleman. When the judge heard the name of this gentleman pronounced,
and realised he might be a friend of the accused, the whole complexion
of the case instantly changed, and instead of passing judgment for the
payment of the coachman’s claim, as he had originally shown a readiness
to do, he calmly asked the accused why he had not mentioned before that
he was a friend of Señor Fulano de Tal, and the matter could have been
arranged immediately. Moreover, he would not even allow that the coachman
was entitled to more than one peso, his minimum fare for the ride from
the hotel to the place at which the Englishman left the coach!
So dumbfoundered was the plaintiff at this sudden change of front that
he burst into a volley of oaths against the Gringo and also insulted the
judge, who forthwith clapped him into jail to cool off for the next
three days!
Our friend, not a little satisfied with the turn of events, was thereupon
liberated, with no worse loss than that of some four or five hours’ time,
and the expenditure of a certain amount of nervous anxiety. But that was
not the end of the matter. The cochero, having spent a few pesos by way
of bribes anticipatory, had ample time in the next three days to nurse
his wrath to scalding point, and the Englishman was advised, in view of
this, to be very careful of his movements after these three days had
passed, as it was a matter that might be settled in the approved manner
of the Italian—at the point of the stiletto.
It so happened that five days after the court scene, the Englishman was
due to sail for England, and during the days following the prisoner’s
release he practically never left the hotel, even taking the precaution
of having his luggage conveyed to the boat by another traveller, to throw
the coachman off the scent, if perchance he was lurking about, seeking
vengeance. Then when ready to leave, a friend engaged a taxicab and drove
up in it to the kitchen entrance of the hotel, the Englishman jumping in
instantly. Thus he succeeded in eluding the ruffian, but he actually saw
him arrive at the quayside just when the visitors were being turned off
the vessel.
The simple narration of this episode can give but faint idea of the
anxiety and inconvenience it must have caused to the English traveller,
and it is to be doubted whether in the end he was the gainer. My own
policy was invariably to submit to any sort of injustice when I could
not see an immediate likelihood of successfully protesting against
it. The line of least resistance is certainly the only policy in the
Argentine that makes for comfort and peace of mind.
The practice of indiscriminately thrusting people into jail and leaving
them there for several days, in the vilest conditions and often in a
common room with the most desperate characters, before inquiring into
their cases, had one solitary merit, and, as the Irishman said, even that
was a bad one. In every motor accident that takes place—and there are
many daily—the first thing the policeman does is to march the chauffeur
off to jail, and have the car removed afterwards. It is a matter of
complete indifference to the police whether the accident is the fault of
the chauffeur or not—off he goes to jail and there he may lie for several
days before he is discharged. As it would be difficult to discover more
reckless drivers than those who make pandemonium of the streets of Buenos
Ayres, this struck me as not entirely a bad method. To assume the guilt
of the motor-driver until he had proved his innocence was, in nine cases
out of ten, to take the proper course. Some English acquaintances of
mine, however, who kept an automobile and employed a very considerate and
cool-headed Englishman as driver, were unable to agree with me, as their
man had just spent three days in jail for a slight accident, in which
a careless passenger had injured his foot by stepping off the pavement
against the wheel of the car, and owing to the verminous condition of
the jail, the poor chauffeur had to destroy all his clothes after he was
liberated! My friends also had to suffer inconvenience owing to their
car being abandoned in the street by the arrest of the driver, and being
held by the police for a day or two before it was delivered to them,
sustaining in the meantime some damage. The only moral of this story is
that Buenos Ayres is no place for an English chauffeur!
But of course it is easy to be critical of the social conditions of
a country which, after all, has no more than emerged from somewhat
primitive conditions into the larger life of a great modern nation. The
Spanish civilisation in America was not in every way superior to the
native civilisations it destroyed and supplanted, and for generations
it made but little progress of itself, if anything deteriorating as
the inevitable consequence of its low and brutalising aim—the securing
of treasure for the Spanish Crown. The Spanish communities established
throughout the continent were notoriously lacking in ideals. Until they
threw off the yoke of Spain and began to feel within themselves the
stirring of national aspirations, to cherish ambitions of elevating
themselves into individual nations, their history went some way to
justify the famous cynicism that the true dividing line between Africa
and Europe are not the Straits of Gibraltar, but the Pyrenees.
No longer, however, can it be said that any of these virile young
peoples are without their ideals. If the Argentine citizen had no other
figure than the splendid one of Sarmiento to point to, he would still
be justified in claiming for his country a place among the intellectual
nations of our time. And Sarmiento is but one of many great men whom the
Argentine has produced.
There is everywhere in South America to-day an unmistakable reaching
out for better things. Alongside the sheer brutality, unhappily still
existing, the tender plant of intellectual culture has been growing,
and with it true humanitarianism must make progress. It is, however,
the defect of virtue ever to be less interesting than vice; not only in
the Argentine, but also among ourselves, the baser elements of society
have a knack of thrusting themselves in front of the worthier, so that
the observer is liable to get his perspective askew. That is why it is
easy to overestimate the importance of these baser elements of Argentine
social life, though not to overdraw the picture of actual conditions. It
may fairly be said that the baser elements of social life touch a higher
percentage of the whole in the Latin-American civilisation of to-day than
in that of Europe or North America, but that the more elevating factors
are present and, if less in degree, are similar in kind to those of the
older nations, and will eventually produce a worthy social system, in
which intellectualism and humanitarianism will triumph over the brute
forces of self-seeking and indifferentism. But the time is not yet.
The Argentine is credited with expending more on the education of its
people than any other country in the world, with the exception of
Australia, and if the truth must be told, it is not getting the best
value for its expenditure. Since the days when Sarmiento,—who took part
in the insurrection against the notorious Rosas in 1829, and some twenty
years later had a hand in overthrowing that _gaucho_ tyrant,—established
in 1856, the first department of public education, the public schools
of the Argentine have been regarded as one of the first considerations
of every statesman. Sarmiento spent his life in the cause of education,
which he had studied in the United States and in Europe before rising to
power in his native land, and during his presidency he achieved great
things in the founding of schools and colleges throughout the country.
A visitor to Buenos Ayres, and especially if he be one of official
distinction in his own country, will be shown some most admirable
educational institutions in the federal capital, and among these the
splendid Colegio Sarmiento, which perpetuates the memory of the wisest
and most humane of Argentine presidents. So far good, but he will not
be told, especially if he be under official guidance, that probably
the school teachers throughout the country are four, five, or six
months in arrears with their salaries, the appropriation for public
education having somehow fallen short of the requirements. Just as an
immense amount of the corruption and criminality among the police is
due directly to the infamously low rate of remuneration, which in 1912
was practically the same as it had been some fifteen or twenty years
before, though the cost of living had meanwhile doubled, if not trebled,
so is school-teaching rendered one of the most despicable of callings
by reason of the shamefully low wages paid to those engaged in it. In a
country where the commonest forms of manual labour are highly rewarded,
the rank and file of teachers are not so well paid as they are in the
United States or in England, and thus, in financial standing, fall into
the meanest class of workers. Nay, it is by no means unusual for their
wretched salaries to be as much as six months in arrears, and in any case
the average teacher seldom has the satisfaction of handling his or her
income, owing to a check system worked under the immediate auspices of
the Educational Department itself.
The school teacher, being quite without resources and living from hand
to mouth, wishes to buy, let us say, a sewing machine for his wife, or
some household necessity. He obtains this on the instalment system, and
the Educational Department becomes his _fiador_, or guarantor, for the
transaction. It does more; it actually pays the instalments and marks
them off against his salary! In such wise many teachers do all their
shopping, even to the purchase of their eatables, and rarely have the
satisfaction of handling their actual salaries. No wonder that the
poor pedagogue, who ought to be the hope of his country, is more often
despised and contemned for his inability to acquire money in a country
where the possession of it is the sole measure of a man’s ability.
Nevertheless, it cannot be denied that there is a genuine desire for
knowledge among the Argentine people to-day, a willingness to be
instructed, only second to that of the North American, whose advanced
ideals of education first fired Sarmiento to emulation. The works of
an informative character sold in the bookshops would, I am confident,
greatly outnumber those of light reading, were statistics available.
There is throughout the Press the same evidence of a serious interest
in subjects which in England would be considered “heavy” or “dull.” In
a word, the good Argentine is a man very much in earnest, given to
pondering the problems of life in the light of the best criticism he can
find, and if he is still overshadowed by his worser compatriots, he is by
no means a negligible quantity, nor is he rarely to be met with.
[Illustration: SUBURBAN AND RURAL ROADS IN THE ARGENTINE.
The photograph on the left was taken in the suburb of Quilmes, and shows
a typical suburban road in dry weather; that on the right, the main road
through the town of Azul in the south of the Province of Buenos Ayres.]
In many ways the country seems to be passing through much the same
social development as the history of the United States presents, always
remembering, however, that it is based on a civilisation that differs
radically from the Anglo-Saxon. A further evidence of this is the
extraordinary popularity of the lecture as an instrument of education.
In the course of a single year, the procession of lecturers who invade
Buenos Ayres assumes proportions that are almost comic. Not a week
passes but the newspapers herald the coming of some European celebrity,
whose portrait is published broadcast, whose life is written up in every
journal, and whose lectures (for which a high fee is usually charged) are
pretty sure to be well attended. The subjects on which these lecturers
discourse are often of the most forbidding seriousness, and only people
famishing for knowledge, or utterly at a loss otherwise to dispose of
their time, could provide audiences for them. These _conferencistas_ come
indiscriminately from France, Spain, and Italy, the languages of these
countries being so widely represented in the Argentine that a gathering
capable of understanding any or all of them is not difficult to get
together. Some of the lecturers are officially invited by the Government,
who pay their fees and expenses, others—the majority—are quite as much
interested in filling their pockets as in furthering the intellectual
development of the Argentine, and very willingly invite themselves,
any lecturer of the Latin race being a gifted self-advertiser. A good
many ladies, chiefly Spanish novelists of reputation or political
agitators, also grace the lecture platform in Buenos Ayres and the large
provincial centres. A reception committee is usually formed to meet the
distinguished visitor at the boat, and there is the usual _banquete_,
with the equally inevitable _copa de champaña_, and the ubiquitous
photographers from _Caras y Caretas_ and the other pictorial papers.
This movement has assumed proportions which in 1912 led the caricaturists
to turn their attention to it, and cartoons of the different lecturers
hurrying off with bags of gold, indicated the local cynicism on the
subject; but apart from its amusing aspect it ought to be accepted as
an earnest of the desire that does exist for instruction in subjects
of public life. One popular lecture, for instance, was devoted to “The
Management of Public Museums,” but literary subjects, studies of the
lives of famous authors, and historical studies, as well as travel-talks,
seem to be most acceptable. One lady arrived from Spain with a lecture
in which she endeavoured to prove that Columbus was a Spaniard, based
upon the most slender evidence put forth by a Spanish antiquary, with
whom the wish was father to the thought; but she was listened to in a
good-humoured, sceptical manner, which spoke well for the common-sense of
the people, who wisely do not care a straw whether Columbus was a Gallego
or Genoese. Among the celebrities engaged under Government auspices to
lecture in recent years was a very famous French novelist, who is one
of the favourite authors throughout Latin America. In common with most
other authors, he not only lectured, but made use of his experience on
returning home to describe the countries he had visited. His description
of Uruguay is particularly remembered in Montevideo, as he is said to
have mentioned the fine coffee plantations of that country, and this was
the first that any Uruguayan had ever heard of them!
Although the final civilisation of the Argentine people will leave
between it and any Anglo-Saxon civilisation a marked cleavage, yet it
will approximate more closely to the British or North American than to
the French or Spanish. To say that the Argentines are Latins with certain
aspirations which are essentially characteristic of the Anglo-Saxons,
would be too broad a generalisation, but, closely analysed, we can
discover even more characteristics in the Argentine sympathetic to
British social notions,—imitative of them, perhaps,—than in the French or
Spanish, though at bottom, the Argentine remains Latin, and every nation,
like every individual, is doomed to carry, wherever it goes along the
road of progress or retrogression, “the baggage of its own psychology.”
Socially, the British have passed through some of the phases from which
the Argentine is only just emerging, and North Americans have passed
through others which at no time affected British social life.
In concluding this chapter, I have to admit that I have been somewhat
hampered in its construction by the fact that many illustrations which I
have stored in my mind affecting the social side of things, fall more
properly into other sections of my book, so that it is impossible to
avoid in some degree the overlapping of interests, especially when I deal
with subjects such as that in my succeeding chapter, which is really a
further consideration of the social life of the country. In the present
chapter, I have therefore sought to do no more than touch discursively
upon certain incidents and matters coming within my knowledge during my
stay on the River Plate, which may shed some light on an aspect of the
Argentine which few American or English writers mention in their usually
flattering and too often uncritical studies of the country and its
people.