Part 39

The cemetery is a long way off, around on the south side of the city, and is a place of beauty. The entrance is tasteful, and much more elaborate and expensive than any cemetery entrance in the United States. The chapel down the walk in front of the entrance, with its ornamental dome and marble floors and ornaments, is worth seeing. The ground is occupied with private or family vaults much more elaborate and expensive than those one sees in North America. There are individual tombs in North American cemeteries far more elegant than any in Uruguay; but, taken as a whole, this city of the dead is of a higher order. The streets are too narrow, and the surface is nearly all utilized. It is common to have glass doors back of the iron gates, so one can look into the little rooms above the vaults. The walls of these are covered with pictures and curious wire and bead work ornaments. There are crucifixes and candles everywhere. In one tomb is to be seen a picture of Mary seated on an island or floating raft, pulling souls out of the flames of purgatory. The poor things are stretching up their hands pleading for help, and Mary is watching the prayers on earth and choosing accordingly. Back of these tombs, and forming a high wall twenty or twenty-five feet high, is a long series of vaults one above another, each with an opening large enough to receive a casket shoved in endwise. These vaults are either owned, or rented for a term of years, or as long as the friends pay the rent. In case of default, the remains are taken out and dropped into deep pits, and the vaults rented to the next comer.

The standing army of Uruguay consists of five thousand men, mostly concentrated at the capital. Their uniform, with the exception of that of the President’s bodyguard--a battalion of three or four hundred men, dressed in a novel and striking costume of leopard-skins--is of the zouave pattern. There are connected with the army several fine bands, which on alternate evenings give concerts in the plazas. These concerts are attended by all classes of people, and furnish good opportunities for flirtation.

Everybody rides; no one thinks of walking. Each family has its carriage, saddle, and other horses, and even the beggars go about the streets on horseback. It is a common thing for a person to be stopped on the street by a horseman and asked for a centavo, which is worth two and a half cents of our money. These incidents are somewhat alarming at first, and suggest highway robbery; but the appeal is made in such a humble, pitiful tone that the feeling of alarm soon vanishes. “For the love of Jesus, señor, give a poor sick man a centavo. I’ve had no bread or coffee to-day;” and receiving the pittance, the beggar will gallop off like a cow-boy to the nearest drinking-place.

The national drink is called _caña_, and is made of the fermented juice of the sugar-cane. It contains about ninety per cent. of alcohol, and is sold at two cents a goblet; so that a spree in Uruguay is within the reach of the poorest man. But there is very little intemperance in comparison with that in our own country. On ordinary days drunken men are seldom seen on the streets, but on the evening of a religious feast-day the common people usually engage in a glorious carousal.

The policemen in Montevideo are detailed from the army, and carry sabres instead of clubs, which they use with telling effect upon offenders who resist arrest. A few years ago there was no safety for people who were out late at night either in the city or country; robberies and murders were of frequent occurrence, and yet the prisons were empty. But President Santos rules with an iron hand, and after a few highwaymen and murderers were hanged, there was a noticeable change in the condition of affairs, and now a woman or a child is as safe upon the streets or highways of the country as in their own homes.

One of the curious customs of Uruguay is the method of making butter. The dairy-man pours the milk, warm from the cow, into an inflated pig or goat skin, hitches it to his saddle by a long lasso, and gallops five or six miles into town with the milk-sack pounding along on the road behind him. When he reaches the city his churning is over, the butter is made, and he peddles it from door to door, dipping out with a long wooden spoon the quantity desired by each family. Though all sorts of modern agricultural machinery are used on the farms of Uruguay, the natives cannot be induced to adopt the wooden churn. Some of the foreigners use it, but the butter is said to be not so good as that made in the curious primitive fashion. Fresh milk is sold by driving cows from door to door along the principal streets, and milking them into the jars of the customers.

During the last year religious and political circles have been in a state of the greatest agitation, owing to the resistance of the priests to the arbitrary policy of the Government. For several years the Church has seen itself stripped of its ancient prerogatives, and its occupation and income gradually restricted by the enactment of laws conferring upon the civil magistrates duties which were formerly within the jurisdiction of the priests alone. Under the constitution, the established religion of the country is the Roman Catholic, and the archbishop was formerly a greater man than the President, being the final authority in matters political as well as spiritual.

The Romish Church, like the Spanish kings, ruled very unwisely in the South American dominions, and instead of keeping pace with the progress of the people, endeavored to enforce fifteenth century dogmas and practices in the nineteenth. The result is the same everywhere. The Liberal element, representing the progressive and educated, have denied the authority of the Church, and defied its mandates. The Liberals have been growing stronger and the Church growing weaker each year, until the former are in power everywhere except in Ecuador, and have given the priests repeated and bitter doses of their own medicine. Santos, the President of Uruguay, cares no more for the curse of Rome than for the bleating of the sheep upon his estancia, and has been arbitrary and merciless, carrying on a war in which the Clerical party has been driven to the wall, the parish schools closed, the monks and nuns expelled, and the pulpits silenced. The first step was to take the education of the children out of the hands of the Church by establishing free schools and a compulsory education law, under which the parish schools were not recognized in the national system of education. The money which formerly had been given to the Church is devoted to the school fund. Then the registration of births and deaths was taken from the parish clergy and placed in the hands of the civil officials. Formerly the legitimacy of a child could not be established without a certificate from the priest in whose parish it was born; and the cemeteries were closed to heretics. The next thing was the passage of the civil marriage law, similar to that of France, which required every couple to be married by a magistrate, in order that the legitimacy of their offspring might be established. This was a serious blow at the revenues of the Church, as its income from marriage fees was very large. It formerly cost twenty-five dollars to get married, and very few of the peons, or laboring classes, could afford the luxury. Now it costs but one dollar. The Church submitted to all assaults upon it until the marriage law was passed, and then it openly defied the civil authorities, and threatened to excommunicate all members who obeyed the statute.

President Santos is not a man to quietly endure defiance of his authority. He ordered the police to arrest and imprison every priest who preached such doctrine. Three or four arrests were made, when the archbishop addressed a letter to the President declaring that the Church could not and would not recognize marriages formed without its benediction, and that the police authorities had no right to determine what subjects should be discussed in the pulpit. The President took no notice of the protest, further than to direct the police to carry out their previous orders. The Papal Nuncio, legate from the Holy See, interfered and entered his remonstrance, whereupon he was given forty-eight hours to leave the country. The archbishop then instructed the priests not to preach any sermons whatever, but to confine their spiritual offices to the celebration of the mass. Then a law was passed abolishing all houses of religious seclusion, and forbidding secret religious orders within the territory of Uruguay. The excuse for this was that the monasteries were the hot-beds of political conspiracy, which was probably true. An edict was issued expelling all monks and nuns from Uruguay, and many of them at once left the monasteries, some taking refuge in private families, others going into hospitals and almshouses, but more left the country.

On the first of August, 1885, all the convents, except one, were closed. This one had for its Mother Superior a sister of President Santa Maria, of Chili. She was a woman of pluck, and determined to defy the law. When the first of August arrived, the inspectors of police went to her place, called “The House of the Good Shepherd,” and being denied admittance, burst in the doors. The Mother Superior was found alone, and when asked what had become of the Sisters, refused to answer the question. A search was made, and forty-five terror-stricken women were discovered concealed in the loft of the chapel and under the altar. They cried pitifully, and falling before the cross of Christ, begged for His protection; but the police dragged them out and gave them orders to leave the country at once. Some of them took refuge in private houses, and the Mother Superior, who, it was supposed, would be imprisoned, found an asylum in the house of an Irish Roman Catholic named Jackson, who raised the English flag over his roof. They soon after disappeared, however, and quietly left the country.

This ended the supremacy of the Roman Catholic Church in Uruguay. The next movement of Santos towards its extermination will undoubtedly be the confiscation of its property; but as yet no steps have been taken in that direction. Except among the women, there is very little sympathy for the priests. Men are seldom seen in a church except on notable feast-days, but the women go to mass every morning, and perform the duties of their religion with ardent devotion. Protestantism is making considerable progress in Uruguay under the direction of the Rev. Thomas Wood, formerly of Indiana, who has been superintendent of Methodist missions in the River Plate valley for many years. There are in Montevideo two Protestant churches, and several schools for ordinary as well as religious instruction. One of the churches is under the care of the Established Church of England, and is the fashionable place of worship for foreigners. No mission work is done by it, but it has a Sabbath-school, and there is regular preaching on Sundays. The success of Mr. Wood’s labors is very marked, particularly among the natives. He receives encouragement, but no financial aid, from the Government. His work is supported by the Missionary Board of the Methodist Church of New York, and all he asks of the Government is its non-interference. This it agrees to, and gives him full protection besides. Mr. Wood is an active, energetic, and enthusiastic man, and the Methodists could not have placed their work under a better superintendent.

Standing on the Plaza Constitution, one sees towering up, one hundred and thirty-three feet above, the great cathedral, a large, plain, and somewhat imposing structure. It was dedicated eighty-two years ago, but time and the fortunes of war have dealt kindly with it. On entering this building, at first the visitor wonders at its tawdriness; next he feels its coldness, and then he is impressed by the dominating importance given to the Virgin Mother, and the inferior position assigned to the Son. This is so in all the Catholic churches of South America. Over the great altars always may be seen some huge and coarse representation of Mary. She is dressed after the modern style, in some rich material and an abundance of lace. The stiff wax form and awkward wax hands would make a sad appearance in a collection of wax-figures like the moral show of Artemus Ward. The form of the Saviour is pushed away off to one side in some obscure alcove. The supremacy of Mary in these papal lands is wrought into all the life of the people. She has every sort of name. Every conceivable relation in the Virgin’s life is named, and that name bestowed upon men and women alike. There is “Maria Remedia”--that is, Mary of Remedies; “Maria Dolores,” Mary of Griefs; “Maria Angustos,” Mary of Anguish; “Maria Concepcion,” Mary of the Conception; “Maria Mercedes,” Mary of Mercy; “Maria Anunciacion,” Mary of Annunciation; “Maria Presentacion,” Mary of the Presentation; “Maria Carmen,” Mary of Blood; “Maria Purificacion,” Mary of Purification; “Maria Trinidad,” Mary of the Trinity; “Maria Asuncion,” Mary taken from earth; “Maria Transitu,” Mary going into heaven--and so on indefinitely. In the Montevideo cathedral, and in many others, stands a statue of a black saint--St. Baltazar--among many classes of people, one of the important saints of the catalogue.

Montevideo, with a population of one hundred and twenty-five thousand, has twenty-three daily papers--more, in proportion to its population, than any other city in the world; three times as many as London, and nearly twice as many as New York. Buenos Ayres has twenty-one daily papers for a population of four hundred thousand. Other cities in South America are equally blessed; but in those of the republics of Ecuador, Bolivia, and Paraguay no daily papers are issued. The South American papers are not published so much for the dissemination of news as for the propagation of ideas. They give about six columns of editorial to one of intelligence, and publish all sorts of communications on political subjects, furnish a story in each issue, and often run histories and biographies as serials. One frequently takes up a daily paper and finds in it everything but the news, so that last week’s issue is just as good reading as yesterday’s.

The principal reason and necessity for having so many newspapers is that every public man requires an organ in order to get his views before the people. The editors are ordinarily politicians or publicists, who devote their entire time to the discussion of political questions, and expect the party or faction to which they belong to furnish them with the means of living while they are so employed. Each of the papers has a director, who holds the relation of editor-in-chief, and a sub-editor, who is a man-of-all-work, edits copy, looks after the news, reads proof, and stays around the place to see that the printers are kept busy. There is never a staff of editors or reporters as in the United States, and seldom more than two men in an office. The director usually has some other occupation. He may be a lawyer, or a judge, or a member of Congress, and he expects his political sympathizers to assist him in furnishing editorials.

At the capital of each of the republics in Central and South America there are usually one or more publications supported by the Government for the promulgation of decrees, decisions of the courts, laws of Congress, and official reports; and usually the paper which sustains the Administration that happens to be in power expects and receives financial assistance, or a “subvention,” as it is called, from the Government. This comes in the form of sinecures to the editors, who receive generous salaries from the public treasury for their political and professional services. Every president or cabinet minister, every political leader, every governor of a province, every _jefe politico_ (mayor of a city), and often a collector of customs, has his organ, and, if he is not the editor himself, sees that whoever acts in that capacity is paid by the tax-payers.

Except in Montevideo, Buenos Ayres, Santiago, Valparaiso, Rio de Janeiro, and other of the larger and more enterprising cities, there are no regular hours of publication; but papers are issued at any time, from eight o’clock in the morning until ten at night, whenever they happen to be ready to go to press. It seems odd to have yesterday’s paper delivered to you in the afternoon of to-day, but it often occurs. As soon as enough matter to fill the forms is in type, the edition goes to press. In the cities mentioned and some others there is a good deal of journalistic enterprise and ability; news is gathered by the editors--there is no reporter in all Spanish America. Telegraphic despatches are received and published, including cablegrams from Europe furnished by the Havas News Agency; news correspondence regarding current events comes from the interior towns and cities; meetings are reported, fights and frolics are written up in graphic style, and even interviews have been introduced to a limited extent. The newspapers of Valparaiso and Buenos Ayres are the most enterprising and ably conducted, _El Comercio_, of the former city, and _La Nacion_, of the latter, ranking well beside the provincial papers of Europe.

The editors of papers in the tropics are seldom called upon to report fires, as they are of rare occurrence. The houses are practically fire-proof, being built of adobe, and roofed with tiles. No stoves are used, and as there are no chimneys such a thing as a defective flue is unknown. All the cooking is done upon an arrangement like a blacksmith’s forge, and charcoal is the only fuel used. The delight of the South American editor is a street fight, and although an account of it may not appear for several days after the occurrence, the writer gives his whole soul to its description. It is always recorded in the most elaborate and flamboyant manner. The following is a literal translation of the opening of one of these articles:

“A personal encounter of the most transcendent and painful interest occurred day before yesterday in the street of the Twenty-fifth of May, near the palatial residence of the most excellent and illustrious Señor Don Comana, member of the Chamber of Deputies, and was witnessed by a grand concourse of people, whose excitement and demonstrations it is impossible to adequately describe.”

A dog-fight or any other event of interest would be treated in the same manner. Everything is “transcendent,” everything is “surpassing.” The grandiloquent style of writing, which appears everywhere, is not confined to newspapers, nor to orations, but you find it in the most unsuspected places. For example, in a bath-room at a hotel I once found an _aviso_ which, literally translated, read as follows:

“In consequence of the grand concourse of distinguished guests who entreat a bath in the morning, and with the profound consideration for the convenience of all, it is humbly and respectfully requested by the management that the gentlemen will be so courteous and urbane as to occupy the shortest possible time for their ablutions, and that they will be so condescending as to pull out the plug while they are resuming their garments.”

Papers often quote from one another. They select their news as ship-builders select their timber--when it is old and tough. Compositors are not paid by the thousand ems, as in the United States, but receive weekly wages, which are seldom more than eight or ten dollars. Six or seven compositors are a sufficient force for the largest office, as the type used is seldom smaller than brevier, and more often long primer. The printers are mostly natives, although a few Germans are to be found. There are no typographical unions or trade organizations in South America. The laborers and mechanics are called peons, and are in a state of bondage, although not so recognized by law. In the larger cities the papers are delivered by carriers, and sold by newsboys on the streets; but in the smaller towns they are sent to the _correo_, or post-office, to be called for, like other mail, by the subscribers. The price of subscription is inordinately large, being seldom less than twelve dollars per year, and often double that amount; and single copies cost ten cents in native money, which will average about seven and a half cents in American gold. The paper which has the largest circulation in South America is _La Nacion_, of Buenos Ayres, which is said to circulate thirty thousand copies; but twelve or fifteen hundred copies is considered a fair circulation for the ordinary daily.

Most of the offices are very cheaply fitted up. A dress of type lasts many years, and stereotyping is almost unknown. The presses used are the old-fashioned elbow-joint kind, such as were in vogue in the United States forty years ago. In Chili and the Argentine Republic there are some cylinder presses run by steam; but the people generally through the continent are very far behind the times in the typographic art. Modern equipments might be introduced very easily, but the printers down there know nothing about them, and when a perfecting press that cuts and folds is described to them, they are apt to accept the story as a North American exaggeration.

The advertising patronage is very good nearly everywhere, particularly that of the Government organs; but small rates are paid, and the rural system of “trading out” is practised to a considerable extent. The same patent medicine “ads.” that are familiar to the readers of the newspapers in the United States appear in the South American journals, and are eagerly scanned by homesick travellers, although they look very odd in Spanish, and usually can only be recognized by trademarks and other well-known signs. Most of the advertising in South America is done through the newspapers. Very few posters or dodgers or almanacs are used, and the patent medicine fiend has not used his brush so extensively upon the fences and dead walls as in the United States. Not long ago the manufacturers of a popular specific sent their agent in Peru a box of handsomely illuminated advertising cards. The custom officers seized them, and the druggist to whom they were consigned was obliged to pay a heavy penalty for trying to smuggle in works of art.

The South American editor is not allowed the same liberty to criticise public men that is enjoyed by his contemporary in the United States. He speaks with moderation during political excitement, and uses great precaution in his comments upon public affairs. Last winter the Secretary of the Treasury of one of the Spanish-American republics absconded with every dollar in the vaults at the expiration of his term of office. The Administration organs contained no allusion to the event, while the Opposition paper announced it in this innocent language: “The Treasury on Saturday last was the scene of a violent raid on the part of Minister Pena, of the Treasury Department. He entered the cashier’s office late in the afternoon, and demanded all the money that was in the vaults. In spite of the protest of the cashier, he carried away what is said to have amounted to nine thousand dollars. It was the last act of the retiring Minister of Finance. The motives that prompted the procedure are unknown, and the disposition of the money has not been explained.”