A. S. Forrest

THE sun was just beginning to dispel the white morning mists when we came alongside the Aduana or custom-house of Asuncion. Our fellow-passengers were all anxious to learn the latest developments of the revolution in progress, and to discover if it was wise for them to trust themselves on shore, for it is proverbial that Paraguay is like a mouse-trap, easy enough of entrance, but difficult of exit. Alongside of the wharf or quay of the Aduana lay a small steam trawler, which, upon closer inspection, proved to be the Government battleship, its deck swarming with a dirty, ill-clad, frightened crew, who were confused by the conflicting orders shouted at them from time to time by youthful officers, barely out of their teens.

The restlessness of the crew of the Liberdad extended to the small tender that rushed about with noisy, feverish haste on various errands, and to the small row-boats manned by crews of mere boys whose faces were smacked and punched by the officers in charge whenever they missed a stroke or pulled out of time.

Upon the wharf soldiers, with bayonets fixed to their loaded rifles, lounged and smoked in the company of dark-eyed market women, who also puffed and pulled at fat cigars rolled between their protruding lips with an easy familiarity.

At the bottom of the flight of steps which led down to the water’s edge a noisy crowd of boatmen wrangled with their fares or contended with one another for favourable positions. One of these boats was occupied by an old man whose face and dress vividly recalled the well-known prints of the patriot Garibaldi, and that he was conscious of the likeness he bore to the distinguished Italian hero was obvious, for, in bright yellow letters, the name “Garibaldi” was painted upon the green stern of his tiny craft. Further inquiry elicited the fact that the owner of the likeness and the boat was one of the family of Italy’s wandering sons.

Two battleships lay far out in the river, one flying the Argentine and the other the Brazilian flag, and the crews’ weekly washing. Small launches kept coming and going from and to these fourth-rate river cruisers, giving an air of warlike activity to the port.

THE CUSTOM-HOUSE, ASUNCION.

There was no difficulty in going ashore; and, although passengers bound for stations in the interior found that the railway station was closed and under charge of an old watchman and a few old women who were resting upon the seats of the deserted terminus, they had no difficulty in obtaining rooms in the ill-kept and expensive hotels of the city.

There is little life in the rugged streets of Asuncion at any hour of the day in normal times, but during the early mornings, when a revolution is in progress, a few dogs, cats, and fowls have undisturbed possession of the thoroughfares.

The town is well enough laid out, and follows a regular plan; but the low, one-story buildings which line many of the streets, and the absence of many tall buildings, prevent the city from having an imposing aspect. The roads are bad, and the high pavements, which serve in most cases as balconies to the houses, often compel the pedestrian to use the rough roadways, which, however, are not quite so bad as those of Corrientes. In wet weather many of the roads are converted into rivulets, only to be negotiated by stepping from one to the other of the large stones which lie like boulders across the stream. The older houses are all built with “adobes” or sun-dried bricks, having substantial walls of more than a yard in thickness. The roofs are covered with double layers of red tiles of the “roman” pattern, and many of the external walls are panelled and framed in by columns or pilasters in low relief, the whole front being colour-washed in some fanciful shade, according to the owner’s taste. Blues, yellows, purples, greens, and buffs give a kaleidoscopic aspect to the streets, additional variety being lent by the heavy, massive doors and shutters of the entrances and windows, the former opening into vestibules which lead to the pillared and grassy patios beyond.

The kitchens are dark and sooty apartments, full of a heavy atmosphere, and the pungent smell of garlic and cooking fat; but lofty rooms with heavy rafters made from palm-tree trunks are to be found in many of the houses, timber being so plentiful that even the jerry-builders of the country have no temptation to substitute two-by-three joists and rafters. The majority of the houses boast of broad piazzas with heavy pillars and shady upper galleries, which recall the styles of Morocco and Algiers.

The newer buildings in the town, however, display evidence that the modern utilitarian craze for cheapness, with its almost inevitable nastiness, has spread to Paraguay.

They are flimsy and cheaply ornate, with thinner walls and more hastily contrived and executed doors and windows, the woodwork of which is a sad departure from the ideals inculcated by the stern Francia, whose passion for thoroughness in all things called forth the enthusiastic praise of the “philosopher of Chelsea.”

The Dictator of Paraguay permitted no citizen to slur or scamp his work, but demanded the best from every man, exacting a high standard of workmanship, and enforcing the same by the erection of that extraordinary institution known as the “workman’s gallows,” which promptly ended the career of negligent and deceitful craftsmen. All the windows, too, of the older houses in this strange city have heavier iron bars than those commonly found in Spanish dwellings, and this also may be the result of the stern Dictator’s decrees.

For it was under the auspices of the “Grand Old Man” of Paraguay that most of the city was built. When he took up the reins of government he found Asuncion in disorder, its streets irregular, and its houses built without system or plan. Tropical vegetation ran riot in its roadways, which were unpaved and unworthy of the name. When the visitor to-day feels inclined to criticise adversely the streets and roads of the city as he finds them, he should pause and reflect upon its state a hundred years ago, and bless, even if reluctantly, the name of Francia, who remodelled and paved the town, straightened the crooked ways, and brought about some measure of order.

It has been alleged by the Doctor’s traducers that his real purpose in bringing about so many drastic changes was his own convenience and safety, fearing that the dense thickets that grew throughout and around the city might harbour and conceal designing assassins.

Of the few buildings of any great importance, the cathedral, although large, is dwarfed by a high colonnade which rises up to the roof of the deserted and ill-kept edifice, whose walls are discoloured and faded by the action of rain and sun.

One of the few outstanding features of the place is the huge dome which towers above all the other buildings, but the visitor is disappointed when, on closer inspection, he discovers that it is neither old nor new, but merely a monument to the childish and unstable zeal of the tyrant Lopez, who, with a feverish energy, undertook many ambitious building schemes, which, through lack of means or waning enthusiasm, he never completed.

This dome is constructed of dull red adobe bricks, and is imposing and dignified enough in appearance; but the interior is now utilised as a store, and the inhabitants who use it seem to have little idea as to who built it, or for what it was originally intended.

A few buildings in the main street of the city rise to two, three,

and even four stories. One of these, the Spanish-American Hotel, is an old stone building, with a lofty piazza surrounded by heavy pillars, whilst quaint, lugubrious staircases wind round this patio, and lead to the upper floors, which are all of stone. In this hotel, travellers to the city obtain solid food and strongly fortified accommodation, and must not be surprised if they find that the charges are proportionately heavy. The place reminded me of many of the old hotels upon the Spanish Main in Cuba, Mexico, and Colombia, where the same free and easy attendance was given to the guests, and the same highly seasoned dishes were set in front of them. A travelling theatrical company happened to be staying in this hotel during my sojourn, but the presence of the fashionable ladies of the footlights attracted but little attention in the city, which was in a highly strung condition, owing to the disturbed state of the country. Few of the beaux of the town dared venture out; many of them were already either in the ranks of the Government or the insurgents, and those who were not were lying low, fearful of being pressed into service.

Only in the market-place were the ordinary scenes of daily routine to be witnessed, and that because the whole of the business is carried on by the womenfolk. The long and terrible war which was waged by the younger Lopez for six years very nearly exterminated the male portion of the community, so that to-day the women far outnumber the men.

This market is a real live place, with its crowds of dark-haired women and children, the former clad in white or brightly coloured dresses and wearing graceful mantillas or shawls of varied hues, squatting upon the ground, surrounded by a medley of wares in the shape of fruits, meats, sweets, and vegetables. Many of the groups that wear the black mantillas over their heads and falling in long, graceful folds around their shoulders, reminded me very much of the funeral parties that mourn round the coffins outside the country churches in Mexico; but the bright colours of the fruits and flowers, and the blue of the sky, seemed to gain in intensity from these little touches of funereal black. Here and there patient kine stand waiting to yield up their supply of milk to passing customers, whilst their muzzled calves strive in vain to obtain their rightful nourishment. Panniered donkeys and mules are ranged in rows along the railings that surround the inner square, women of all ages pass gracefully to and fro amidst the crowd, their purchases or wares poised easily upon their heads, and altogether the scene presents an animation that is in strong contrast with the listlessness of the rest of the town.

Not a few of the young girls and maidens are very pretty, with slender, graceful figures, jet-black hair, and lustrous eyes, fringed with long lashes, their complexions ranging from light saffron to darkest olive shades, although a few of them possess a really European appearance. Their costumes are simple and inexpensive, although many of the poorest wear ornaments in the way of earrings and necklaces, of native workmanship, made of silver and often of gold. I noticed, however, that some were wearing the cheaper forms of jewellery of foreign manufacture, and that the cut and fashions of modern modes were obtaining popularity amongst the better-to-do market women.

Young children of both sexes run about in a perfectly nude state, even in the town, and in the country this is practically a universal custom. The Paraguayans are all rather short, but strongly knit and wiry. They betray little evidence of Spanish blood, and although there must be in the towns many whose origin is Indo-Spanish, the Indo predominates. The language spoken by the masses is the Guarani, an Indian dialect which is common over a large district in the heart of the continent. The upper classes betray a marked Spanish origin, both in their appearance and speech, and are a little better educated; but most of the people of real Spanish descent were killed during the war, and few, if any, remain to-day who can boast a purely European origin, excepting always the small number of foreigners, English, Italians, Germans, Portuguese, and Spaniards, who have found their way into the country during the last century, and settled there, and those who continue to flow in year after year from many climes, making their new homes in this beautiful country.

Smoking is a universal habit amongst the women in the market-place, and when the thick black rolls of tobacco leaf are laid aside, mouths are generally closed over “bombillas,” through which they suck the steaming “yerba.” Vendors of the beautiful native lace wander up and down, carrying over their arms baskets filled with a large assortment of the delicate handiwork. The visitor is quickly singled out for attention, and invited to inspect the goods, and on his displaying the slightest curiosity is importuned to accompany the dame to one of the shops which surround the market square, where, without “by your leave” to its owner, the goods are spread out upon a table or counter, and a sale is sure to be effected. The proprietor of the shop looks calmly on with apparently no interest in the business, but it is more than likely that some understanding with the itinerant vendor exists, and that when the purchaser has departed the shopkeeper will get a commission for the use of his premises. The lace is very handsome, and although small pieces can be purchased for about half a sovereign, the larger articles, with more intricate workmanship, cost as much as thirty and forty pounds. One small basket, the contents of which I inspected, must have contained a stock worth two or three hundred pounds, if the price asked for the various examples was realised by the merry, middle-aged lady who hawked it round the square.

The Plaza is surrounded by houses of a single story, which have mostly been converted into shops. The high pavement in front of these, reached by steps, is covered by deeply projecting tile-covered eaves forming a kind of verandah, under which groups of women sit amidst their piled-up wares, indolently smoking, expectorating, chattering, and laughing.

Few market-places in the Old or New World have more distinctly unique characteristics than this of Asuncion, none that I have ever seen are so completely in the hands of the fair sex or so free from the intrusion of men.

The city is built on a gradual slope, which rises from the river and extends southwards for a mile or more, its grass-grown streets having different levels, many of them descending with a startling suddenness. In order to progress in a straight line it will be found necessary to continually ascend or descend flights of steps, the difference of level being sometimes as much as twenty feet. The outlying streets are full of interesting little domestic scenes, women with their ubiquitous cigars busy at the wash-tub or hanging out the clothes to dry in the burning sun, culinary operations carried on in the open air under the shade of overhanging eaves or leafy trees. A black-draped doorway here and there intimates to the passers-by that the Great Avenger has paid his dire visit, and through the opening the mourners may be seen sitting beside their dead, and receiving the condolences of friends and relatives, a scene made gloomier by contrast with the brilliant sky against which tall palms nod their leafy crowns, gorgeously plumaged birds wing their joyous flight, and snow-white, fleecy clouds chase one another in endless succession.

At midday, when the sunshine beats warm upon the sleeping town, the shops are closed, the market-place deserted, and desolation reigns in street and square, where the heat from the ground is visible by the quivering motion of the air. The glowing richness of the country roads is refreshing, after these dry, parched, city streets, and the boundless expanse of green hill and valley which stretches around is broken only by the bright silvery light of the river that winds through many and varied scenes northwards, amidst remote, unknown tropical fastnesses, and southwards towards the largest city south of the Equator.

The aboriginal inhabitants of South America are always referred to by the Spanish historians and writers under the generic name of Indians, and very many tribes more or less differentiated by customs, manners, appearance, and language still inhabit the continent. The Guarani peoples who are found to-day in Paraguay are distributed over a large area, extending from the main waters of the Amazon and Madeira rivers through the heart of the continent. Amidst the forests and in the dense chaco of the Paraguay and Parana rivers many still wander in a primitive condition, whilst others but little higher in the scale of civilisation who have come under the influence of the Jesuit missionaries, occupy villages and towns scattered throughout the country.

The early European invaders of the continent were relentless

in their treatment of the natives with whom they came in contact, for with the utmost rapacity and cruelty they enslaved or slaughtered such of the ignorant and defenceless creatures as were unable to escape into the bush. The country has witnessed countless scenes of brutality and bloodshed, enacted frequently in the name of religion, and in some instances with the sanction and countenance of the priests of Rome, who accompanied the expeditions. The Jesuit missionaries who began their humane and truly great work in Paraguay in 1586 must, however, be acquitted of the charge of cruelty and barbarity, displaying, as they did, a wisdom and self-sacrifice that will ever be memorable in the annals of the race, and the advent of these truly brave-hearted men is one of the brightest spots in the whole of Paraguayan history. The sons of all the nations of Europe contributed their share to the establishment of the mission stations among the Indians, and laboured to teach the primitive savages the principles of the Christian religion and the industrial arts of peace. Churches were built, many of which remain standing to-day, the trackless wilds and forests were penetrated by the faithful band whose unyielding opposition to the grasping avarice and barbarous cruelties of the Spanish settlers has earned for them the high place in the regard of subsequent ages which is their just reward.

Finding that the colonial authorities were careless of the trust reposed in them, the Jesuits advocated the cause of the natives to the very steps of the throne of Spain, and had the satisfaction of receiving the King’s approval of their efforts and his sanction to their further enterprise.

Unlike the generality of religious bodies of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the Jesuits, instead of leading lives of seclusion, pursued an absolutely reverse method, adopting a policy of practical helpfulness towards the masses of mankind, irrespective of colour, nationality, or creed. Their ranks, comprising some of the cleverest and most business-like brains of the time, were under the able generalship of men who were statesmen, politicians, or fighters, as occasion required, who adapted their methods to the countries in which and the peoples amongst whom they worked, whilst their firmness of character and mobility of action were admirably suited to the great task which they set themselves.

Under their able guidance and stern rule many tribes were arrested from pursuing the aimless, idle existence of nomads, and were collected into villages, where church and clergy ministered to their spiritual and temporal wants. Individual members of these tribes were raised to positions of trust and authority in each village or settlement, native “regidors” and “alcaldes” administered law and maintained order; the assistant clergy managed all the secular matters connected with the communities, instructing the people in arts and industries, directing the agricultural labour upon the land, teaching the young, and caring for the aged and infirm.

No private property existed in these Arcadian settlements, and the produce of nature’s harvests and men’s labour was stored for common use, the surplus being sold or exchanged to pay the King of Spain taxes and to supply the community with such manufactured articles as they required but were unable to make for themselves. The system evolved by the missionaries proved, whilst it lasted, one of the best ever adopted for governing native races and presented so many points of similarity to the plan introduced and perfected by the Incas on the Western Cordillera, that it is probable the Jesuit fathers moulded their government upon that of the ancient Peruvian theocracy.

The simple South American natives were easily led and their respect won by the efforts of the handful of Jesuits whose superior wisdom, strong character, and benign sympathy admirably fitted them for such work.

To these pioneers of a just appreciation of the rights of the natives, the country owes much, and it is unfortunate that the priests who have succeeded them have not lived and acted up to the high example set by the early fathers. The falling away is pitiful and the results deplorable, although, perhaps, the present state of affairs is an improvement upon that existing in the middle of last century, when a foreign resident in the city of Asuncion accused the priests of crass ignorance and gross immorality, adding that they were “great cock-fighters and gamblers, possessing a vast influence over women, a power which they turn to the basest of purposes, but they are little respected by the men.”

During my visit to Paraguay I met with persons who still believe the stories of a wild tribe still extant who flee from the approach of strangers, and who roam the woods and wander along the banks of remote rivers in a state of complete nudity. This tribe is thought by some to be the degenerate result of close inter-breeding, and it is said that the children who have been left behind and captured when the tribe was suddenly surprised have been found to be incapable of learning to talk. The ape-like characteristics of these tribes have been much commented upon, and the other natives regard them as so low in the scale of creation that they have no compunction in shooting them down at sight, looking upon them as little better than thieving monkeys. These “Guaqui” Indians are reputed to have no houses or huts of any description, no clothes or ornaments, no knowledge of the use of fire, and no articulate language, facts which, if correct, would seem to class them as the lowest and most primitive human beings at present existing upon the earth’s surface.

The history of every country is to a great extent moulded by the character of its inhabitants, and in the case of Paraguay it is not difficult to understand the causes of the interminable and ever-recurrent revolutions which are almost synonymous with the name of the republic. Nature is in one of her bountiful moods in the heart of South America, and does not invite to strenuous toil, for existence is easy and the development of its rich resources makes no appeal whatever to the indolent aborigines of the country.

The swelling rivers Parana and Paraguay irrigate the fertile plains, and the warm, healthy climate stimulates vegetation to a wild profusion. The whole aspect of the country gives a feeling of repose, and especially is this true of the rivers, with their similarity of scenery and comparative absence of human habitations; whilst a journey up these in flood time is one through absolutely desolate regions.

Even after three centuries of contact with virile settlers from Europe, the towns scattered throughout the country preserve the appearance of ancient centres of civilisation long abandoned. Paraguay is a country that does not change outwardly, whatever political upheavals may disturb the routine of the life of its inhabitants.