W. H. Koebel

Population—Attributes of the city—Situation of the Uruguayan capital—The Cerro—A comparison between the capitals of Argentina and Uruguay—The atmosphere of Montevideo—A city of restful activity—Comparatively recent foundation—Its origin an afterthought—Montevideo in 1727—Homely erections—Progress of the town—Advance effected within the last thirty years—The Uruguayan capital at the beginning of the nineteenth century—Some chronicles of the period—The ubiquity of meat—Dogs and their food—Some curious account of the prevalence of rats—The streets of old Montevideo—Their perils and humours—A comparison between the butchers' bills of the past and of the present—Some unusual uses for sheep—Methods in which the skulls and horns of cattle were employed—Modern Montevideo—The National Museum—An admirable institution—Theatres—Critical Montevidean audiences—Afternoon tea establishments—The Club Uruguay—The English Club—British community in the capital—Its enterprise and philanthropy—The Montevideo Times—A feat in editorship—Hotels—Cabs and public vehicles—The cost of driving.

It may come as a surprise to many to learn that Montevideo, the capital of Uruguay, possesses a population of almost four hundred thousand inhabitants. By no means one of those centres that are remarkable only for population, it holds almost every conceivable attribute of a modern city—from boulevards and imposing public buildings to plazas, statuary, and a remarkably extensive tramway service.

Montevideo is situated at a peculiarly advantageous point on the Uruguayan shore. No student of geography, it is true, could point out the exact limits of so immense a stream as the La Plata. Yet for all practical purposes the capital of the Republic sits just beside this very phenomenon. Thus it may be said that the eastern side of the town faces the ocean, while the southern looks upon the River Plate. To enter more fully into the geographical details of the spot, the chief commercial and governmental districts cover a peninsula that juts well out into the waters, thus forming the eastern extremity of the semicircular bay of the actual port. Upon the ocean side of the peninsula the shore recedes abruptly northwards for a short space, and it is here that lie the pleasant inlets that are not a little famed as pleasure resorts.

At the riverward extremity of the port bay is a landmark that is indelibly associated with Montevideo, whether viewed from sea or land. The famous Cerro is a conical hill, surmounted by a fort that dominates all the surrounding landscape. But of the Cerro, since for various reasons it is a place of importance, more later. The capital itself claims the right to prior notice, and to the rendering of a few introductory facts.

Since the distance between the chief town of either republic only just exceeds a hundred miles, a comparison between Montevideo and Buenos Aires is almost inevitable. Indeed, it has become something of a hobby on the part of the Oriental who has visited the Argentine city, and vice versÂ. Fortunately, the comparison can be made without the engendering of bad blood, since to a great extent that which the one town lacks is possessed by the other. Thus, in the first place Montevideo, although astonishingly thriving, is without the hastening crowds and feverish hustle of the city across the waters. Again, although its sheltered bay is yearly accommodating more and larger vessels, the Oriental town is innocent of those many miles of docks teeming throughout with steamers. Yet, on the other hand, it possesses its rocks and shining sands of pleasure that draw the Argentines themselves in shoals across the river.

Indeed, the atmosphere of Montevideo is restful, and at the same time free from the slightest taint of stagnation. Even the more modest thoroughfares are comparatively broad, while the many new avenues are spacious and well planned to a degree. Perhaps the keynote to the town in these respects may be found in the fact that, although the absolute dominion of the priests has long been a thing of the past, the sound of the cathedral and church bells is audible above the hum of the traffic. Even in the ears of the most ardent Protestant the effect is not without its soothing and tranquillising properties.

It is true that there have been some who, deceived by its peaceful appearance, have altogether underrated the actual activity of the city. As a matter of fact, the progress of Montevideo deserves far wider recognition than it has obtained. The town represents something of a babe even amongst the roll of comparatively youthful South American cities. Its foundation, in 1726, indeed, was due to an afterthought, following an expulsion of Portuguese who had landed at the solitary spot and fortified it in the course of one of their later expeditions. Thus Colonia had long afforded a bone of contention between the two nations, and even Maldonado had provided several battlefields ere the present capital was colonised or thought of.

In 1727 the panorama of Montevideo could not well have been an imposing one. At that time the place possessed no more than two buildings of stone, although it could count forty others of hide. But the erections of this homely and odorous material that in the colonial days were made to serve almost every conceivable purpose could have added very little to the Æsthetic properties of the budding settlement. Once established, however, the city grew apace, and in due course the natural advantages of its position raised its status to that of the premier urban centre of the land.

But, although Montevideo flourished and increased for rather more than a century and a half, its leap into complete modernism has only been effected within the last thirty years. In this respect it has only followed the example of the important cities of the neighbouring republics. Thus, in 1807, when its ninetieth birthday was marked by the British occupation, the accounts of numerous foreign visitors to the place testify to its primitive state, although all agree that in the main the capital was a pleasant spot.

That the streets of the period were badly paved it is not surprising to hear, since, owing to many obstacles, the art of accurate paving is one of the very last that has filtered through to South America in general. On the other hand, it is admitted that the thoroughfares were well lit. Amongst the more disagreeable peculiarities were some for which the butcher's trade was responsible.

In a country of oxen the superabundance of meat was made only too evident. "Oftentimes," says an English chronicler of the period, "when a particular piece of meat is wanted, the animal is killed, and after cutting out the desired part, without taking off the skin, the remainder of the carcass is thrown to the dogs, or left to rot in the streets." After this the author proceeds to make a startling statement: "Almost every animal is fed on beef: from this circumstance pork and poultry bought casually in the market, and which has not been purposely fattened, are tinctured with a very ancient and beef-like taste." The first part of this piece of information is undoubtedly accurate; but to what extent the latter is the result of imagination or of fact it is perhaps best not to investigate too closely. According to this theory, some of the plainest of joints must have contained in themselves the elements of several courses, with a species of menagerie meal as a consequence!

In any case, it is well known that the effect of this abundant meat diet upon the prowling dogs of the town was to render them savage and dangerous to the casual passer-by, who frequently had to defend himself as best he might from their attacks. The extraordinary prevalence of rats from similar causes is confirmed by other authors, Uruguayan as well as English. The brothers Robertson, who are responsible for such an excellent description of Paraguay at that period, have some curious experiences to relate concerning this visitation. Both received much hospitality at the hands of their Uruguayan friends. "The only drawback," writes one of them, "upon the delightful way in which I now spent my evenings was the necessity of returning home through long, narrow streets so infested with voracious rats as to make it perilous sometimes to face them. There was no police in the town, excepted that provided by the showers of rain, which, at intervals, carried off the heaps of filth from the streets. Around the offal of carrion, vegetables, and stale fruit which in large masses accumulated there, the rats absolutely mustered in legions. If I attempted to pass near these formidable banditti, or to interrupt their meals and orgies, they gnashed their teeth upon me like so many evening [ravening?] wolves ... sometimes I fought my way straight home with my stick; at others I was forced to fly down some cross and narrow path or street, leaving the rats undisturbed masters of the field."

No doubt had a militant vegetarian of the period found his way to Montevideo he might have pointed out many object-lessons in favour of a lesser carnal devotion. On the other hand, it is lamentable that the cheap value at which carcasses were then held has not continued to prevail to this day. To the small population of a hundred years ago meat seemed to grow as easily as grass-blades, and the uses to which it was wont to be put seem astonishing enough in an era of butchers' bills and shilling steaks.

Since until comparatively recent years in the River Plate Provinces mutton has been held unworthy of even a beggar's acceptance, the carcasses of the sheep suffered the most ignominious end of all. Amongst the other means they were made to serve, the animals were driven to the brick-kilns, slaughtered upon the spot, and their bodies flung into the ovens to feed the fires. As for the cattle, their skulls and horns were everywhere. Prepared by the foregoing for revelations of general utility, it is not surprising to read that houses as well as fence-lines were frequently constructed from such tragic material.

Such reminiscences of the past, however, have drawn the trail too far aside from the modern city of Montevideo, where dogs are subject to police regulations, and the rat is scarce, and meat as dear as elsewhere. As for the town itself, it has sprung up afresh, and renewed itself yet once again since the colonial days. Indeed, the sole buildings of importance that remain from the time of the Spanish dominion are the cathedral and Government palace.

The national museum at Montevideo is both well represented and amply stocked. It is a place into which the average foreigner enters with sufficient rarity, which is rather lamentable, since a very varied local education is to be derived from its contents. Uruguayan art, natural history, geology, literature, and historical objects all find a place here. The collection of primitive Indian utensils, and of bolas, the round stones of the slings, is unique. It is said that in the case of the latter, which have been brought together from all districts, almost every species of stone that exists in the country is to be met.

The historical objects here, moreover, are of great interest to one who has followed the fluctuating fortunes of the country. The early uniforms and weapons of the Spaniards, the costumes and long lances of the first struggling national forces, and a host of other exhibits of the kind are assisted by a considerable collection of contemporary local pictures and drawings. Many of the earlier specimens of these are exceedingly crude, but none the less valuable for that, since the battle scenes are depicted with much the same rough vigour that doubtless characterised their actual raging.

In the gallery devoted to Uruguayan painters there is at least one picture that is remarkable for its power and realism, the work of a famous modern artist, representing a scene in the great plague visitation that the capital suffered. It is a little curious that in the rooms where hang the specimens of European art the biblical paintings of some of the old Italian masters should be hung side by side with modern productions of the lightest and most Gallic tendency; but it is quite possible that this may have been done with intention in support of the propaganda against the influence of Church and religion that has now become so marked throughout South America. In any case, the custom is one that does not obtain in Montevideo alone. The taxidermic portion of the museum is exceedingly well contrived, and the entire institution, with its competent staff, under the direction of Professor JosÉ Arechavaleta, is worthy of all praise.

With social institutions of all kinds Montevideo is amply provided. The theatres are well constructed, well patronised, and frequently visited by some of the most efficient companies in existence. It is true that, owing to the difference in the size of the two towns, Montevideo usually obtains the tail-end of a visit the most part of which has been spent in Buenos Aires. But such matters of precedence do not in the least affect the merits of the various performances. Both actors and musicians here, moreover, have to deal with an audience that is at least as critical as any that its larger neighbour can provide.

One of the evidences of Montevideo's modernity is to be found in its afternoon-tea establishments. Unfortunately, the name of the principal one of these places has escaped me, so that it must receive its meed of praise in an anonymous fashion. It is certainly one of the daintiest specimens of its kind that can be conceived both as regards decoration and the objects of light sustenance that justify its existence. As a teashop it is a jewel with an appropriate pendant—a tiny coal-black negro boy official at the door, whose gorgeous full-dress porter's uniform renders him a much-admired toy of humanity.

The chief and most imposing of the capital's clubs is the Club Uruguay that looks out upon the Plaza Matriz, the main square. The premises here are spacious and imposing, and the club is quite of the first order. The membership is confined almost entirely to the Uruguayans of the better classes, although it includes a small number of resident foreigners. The English Club is situated on the opposite side of the same square, and is an extremely cosy and well-managed institution that sustains to the full all the traditions of the English clubs abroad.

The English community in the capital is fairly numerous, and is in closer touch with its Uruguayan neighbours than is the case with the majority of such bodies in other South American countries. The enterprise and philanthropy of the colony are evident in many directions. It has long possessed a school and a hospital of its own; but subscriptions have now been raised for the erection of a larger and more modern hospital building, to be situated in pleasant surroundings on the outskirts of the town. A great part of the credit for this, as for many other similar undertakings, is undoubtedly due to Mr. R.J. Kennedy, the British Minister.

The English Colony is represented journalistically by a daily paper, the Montevideo Times, a sheet of comparatively modest dimensions that is very ably edited and conducted. Indeed, the record of Mr. W.H. Denstone, the editor, must be almost unique in the history of journalism all the world over. For a period that, I believe, exceeds twenty years the production, in journalese language, has been "put to bed" beneath his personal supervision, and not a number has appeared the matter of which has not come directly from his hands. As a testimony, not only to industry but to a climate that permits such an unbroken spell of labour, surely the feat is one to be cordially acclaimed in Fleet Street!

The Montevideo hotels, although there is much to be said in their favour, are comparatively modest in size, and somewhat lacking in those most modern attributes that characterise many in other large towns of South America, and even those in the pleasure resorts on the outskirts of the Uruguayan capital itself. The best known is the Lanata, situated in the Plaza Matriz. But I cannot recommend the Lanata with any genuine degree of enthusiasm. The Palacio Florida, a new hotel in the Calle Florida, is, I think, the most confidently to be recommended of any in the capital. The tariff here is strictly moderate, the service good, and the place is blessed with the distinct advantage of a very pleasant lounge on each floor.

In many respects Montevideo, although its scale of expenses is rising rapidly, still remains a place of cheaper existence than Buenos Aires. But not in the matter of its cabs and public vehicles. The hooded victoria of the Argentine capital is frequently replaced here by the landau, and on a provocation that may not have exceeded half a mile the piratical driver will endeavour to extract a dollar—the equivalent of four shillings and twopence—from his victimised passenger. The reason for this ambitious scale of charges no doubt lies in the fact that the Montevidean is very little addicted to driving in cabs, of which vehicles, indeed, the very excellent tramway service of the city renders him more or less independent. Thus, as the solvent person is said to bear the burden of the tailor's bad debts, the economies of those who ride in Montevidean tramcars are visited upon the pockets of those others who patronise the cabs.