CHAPTER XXVI.

CHAPTER XXVI.EL PASEO—HISTORICAL RENOWN—RESERVOIRS—VIEW OF CARACAS—RIVERS OF PARADISE—COMPARED WITH MEXICO—PLAZA DE BOLIVAR—STATUE OF THE LIBERATOR—ENTRY INTO CARACAS—FUNERAL CORTEGE—A NATION’S GRATITUDE.

EL PASEO—HISTORICAL RENOWN—RESERVOIRS—VIEW OF CARACAS—RIVERS OF PARADISE—COMPARED WITH MEXICO—PLAZA DE BOLIVAR—STATUE OF THE LIBERATOR—ENTRY INTO CARACAS—FUNERAL CORTEGE—A NATION’S GRATITUDE.

For a view of Carácas and its neighbourhood, no better point can be chosen than the summit of the “Calvario,” or, as it is now called, the “Paseo-Guzman Blanco.” The hill lies to the west of the city, and has been changed from a barren waste into a very pretty garden, with winding carriage-drive and walks. It has an historical renown, as it was here that the old Indian rulers of the country made their last fight against the Spanish invaders, and from its summit, where now stands the statue of the late President, the Cacique Paramaconi defied to single combat the leader of the Spanish host.

On the side nearest to the town the slopes are laid out with flower-beds, rockeries, fountains and miniature cascades. The shrubs and plants are of hot, temperate and cold climes; there are lichens and ferns, lilies, sunflowers, two or three kinds of hybiscus, gardenias, dahlias, verbenas, sago palms, roses, heliotropes, lantanas, honeysuckles, and various brilliant creepers. In the centre of the beds on the summit were twomagnificent clusters of one of the commonest yet showiest orchids—Cattleya mossix—in Venezuela. The large flowers were of a rich rose colour and the lip delicately spotted; in each cluster I counted over two hundred blossoms, and they formed most attractive centre-pieces. Near by are the reservoirs which supply the city with water from the river Macarao. They are cut out of the solid rock and are of fine proportions; the distributing pipes are of iron, but it seems a mistake that the aqueduct itself should have been made by open trench-work instead of by piping.

From our elevation, Carácas looks like all other Spanish American towns; low houses with brown and red roofs, among which stand out conspicuously numerous cupolas, domes, spires, towers and the white façades of the churches. The city divides the valley of Chacao into two parts, that towards the east looking fresh and green with coffee and sugar plantations, thick groves and forest; and the other, towards the south-west, fertile and cultivated but without the rich woodland which marks the opposite side. Winding about through rows of poplars and willows, the river Guaire flows through the valley in a south-easterly direction, being joined in its course by three little streams called respectively El Caroata, El Catuche, and El Anauco. These three streams divide the town into four parts and have broad, deep beds, but in the dry season would hardly rank above gutters; yet a national writer, taking them, I suppose at the flood, has recognised in them—together with El Guaire—the four rivers of Paradise, and taking into consideration its climate of perpetual spring, has compared the situation of Carácas to that of Eden.

Still, small as these streams may be, their green banks clothed with orange, quince and avocata trees with here and there plantain, or sugar and coffee estates, give a bright smiling aspect to the valley which contrasts with the arid range of the southern hills.

The northern sierra, with its domed Silla, is also barren and grim for a considerable portion of its lower half, but above it is crowned with fine trees and foliage. I tried hard to be impressed with the scenery so highly praised by Humboldt, but I failed. Perhaps it was because I could not shake off the remembrance of another valley view, viz: that of Mexico from the hill of Chapultepec, which I had seen the previous year. In the two panoramas, there were just sufficient points of resemblance to cause a comparison. The green plain, the poplar rows, the magueys, the weeping willows, the cypresses, the ruined habitations, the white city and the mountain frame were in both pictures, but the view of modern Carácas was only a diminutive shadow that faded almost out of sight with the memory of the Mexican landscape. In the latter, everything is on so magnificent a scale, and all is enshrouded in the glamour of history.

From Chapultepec, with its giant cypresses and sad associations, the eye wanders over the garden, villages, cultivated-fields and swamps, avenues of poplars, and great aqueducts to the city itself, with its innumerable churches and convents. Beyond it sparkles a silver lake and canal, and the whole is enclosed by lofty mountains, above which tower the snow-covered heights of Popocatapetl and Iztaccihuatl, the volcanic guardians of the city of Montezuma. Though externally Carácas presents a similar appearance to other Spanish Americantowns, yet internally it is far brighter and more cheerful. Its streets, which intersect one another at right angles, are broad and clean, the houses are well-built, the merchants’ stores and the shop-windows are quite attractive, and what with flowers, fountains and statues, the Paris of South America—as the inhabitants love to call their little town—at certain seasons looks gay and animated.

In the centre of the city is the chief Plaza—Plaza de Bolivar—which is flanked by the Cathedral, the President’s or the Yellow House (Casa amarilla) as it is called out of compliment to the White House at Washington, the Archbishop’s Palace, and the usual collection of small shops and “palperias” that abound in all plazas. The trees and flowers are carefully tended, and the benches and chairs are not only numerous, but, strange to say, comfortable. When there is no moon the Plaza is well lighted by pretty clusters of oil-lamps. Once the city was lighted by gas, but the company—like other Venezuelan projects—failed, and now oil is used.

The middle of the Plaza is occupied by a magnificent equestrian statue of Simon Bolivar the Liberator. It is a work of art that must be deemed fully worthy of the great man, even by his most ardent admirers. An unprejudiced observer might ask whether the man was worthy of the statue. It is doubtful whether the true life and character of Bolivar will be known or at least acknowledged. I have lately read his memoirs by General Holstein, who was chief of the Staff of the President Liberator, and with whom he claims great intimacy. The author here says, “The dominant traits in the character of General Bolivar are ambition, vanity,thirst for absolute, undivided power, and profound dissimulation.... Paez was heard to tell Bolivar, after the action at Villa del Cura, that he would move off his own troops and act no more with him in command; adding, ‘I never lost a battle wherein I acted by myself, or in a separate command, and I have always been defeated when acting in concert with you and under your orders.’ ... To these brave men (here a number of men are named) Colombia and Bolivar himself owe the expulsion of the Spaniards, and the salvation of the country, if their present expulsion may be called so. The brightest deeds of all these Generals were performed in the absence of Bolivar. Abroad they were attributed to his military skill and heroism, while in fact he was a fugitive a thousand miles from the scenes of their bravery, and never dreaming of their successes.... General Bolivar, moreover, has never in person commanded a regiment, nor four soldiers. He has never made a charge of cavalry, nor with a bayonet. On the contrary, he has ever been careful to keep himself out of danger.... Bolivar has several times offered his resignation, but never unless he knew beforehand that no one would dare appear in favour of accepting it.... The great mass of the people are ignorant, bigoted and rude, to a degree not easily conceived by one educated in almost any Protestant country. Hence it is that Bolivar’s speeches, proclamations, promises, conversations, are thought of so highly. These people, once getting a notion into their heads, keep it fast. They think Bolivar a great man, and believe that his monstrous faults are in fact the faults of others, because he tells them so.”

Colonel Hippisly in his “Narrative of the Expedition to the Rivers Orinoco and Apure, in South America,” says:—

“Bolivar would ape the great man. He aspires to be a second Bonaparte in South America, without possessing a single talent for the duties of the field or the cabinet.... He has neither talents nor abilities for a general, and especially for a commander-in-chief.... Tactics, movements, and manœuvres are as unknown to him as to the lowest of his troops. All idea of regularity, system, or the common routine of an army, or even a regiment, he is totally unacquainted with. Hence arises all the disasters he meets, the defeats he suffers, and his constant obligations to retreat whenever opposed to the foe.”

Certainly his life was one of extraordinary vicissitudes; he was perpetually flying from, or returning to, his country. At one moment an outcast, at the next making a glorious entry into Carácas. In reference to one of these returns the author I first quoted, says:—

“The entry of General Bolivar into Carácas (August 4th, 1813) was the most gratifying event of his whole military career. But here I cannot omit to mention a singular and characteristic trait of that vanity of which I have already spoken. Previous to his entry into Carácas, a kind of triumphal car was prepared, like that which the Roman consuls used on returning from a campaign after an important victory. Theirs was drawn by horses; but Bolivar’s car was drawn by twelve fine young ladies, very elegantly dressed in white, adorned with the national colours, and all selected from the first families in Carácas. They drew him in about half-an-hour from the entrance of thecity to his residence; he standing on the car, bareheaded and in full uniform, with a small wand of command in his hand. To do this was surely extraordinary on their part; to suffer it was surely much more so on his. Many thousands were eye-witnesses of the scene.”

The same year Bolivar was again a fugitive. Once more, in December 1842, the inhabitants of Carácas flocked in immense throngs with banners, pennants, oriflammes, and trophies of war, to do honour to Bolivar. But this time it was a funeral procession, as the remains of the Liberator were being brought for interment in the city. In a poem on Simon Bolivar, Whittier has written:—

“How died that victor? In the field with banners o’er him thrown,With trumpets to his falling ear, by charging squadrons blown,With scattered foemen flying fast and fearfully before him,With shouts of triumph swelling round, and brave men bending o’er him?Not on his fields of victory, nor in his council hall,The worn and sorrowful leader hears the inevitable call,Alone he perished in the land he saved from slavery’s ban,Maligned, and doubted, and denied, a broken-hearted man.”

“How died that victor? In the field with banners o’er him thrown,With trumpets to his falling ear, by charging squadrons blown,With scattered foemen flying fast and fearfully before him,With shouts of triumph swelling round, and brave men bending o’er him?Not on his fields of victory, nor in his council hall,The worn and sorrowful leader hears the inevitable call,Alone he perished in the land he saved from slavery’s ban,Maligned, and doubted, and denied, a broken-hearted man.”

“How died that victor? In the field with banners o’er him thrown,With trumpets to his falling ear, by charging squadrons blown,With scattered foemen flying fast and fearfully before him,With shouts of triumph swelling round, and brave men bending o’er him?Not on his fields of victory, nor in his council hall,The worn and sorrowful leader hears the inevitable call,Alone he perished in the land he saved from slavery’s ban,Maligned, and doubted, and denied, a broken-hearted man.”

“How died that victor? In the field with banners o’er him thrown,

With trumpets to his falling ear, by charging squadrons blown,

With scattered foemen flying fast and fearfully before him,

With shouts of triumph swelling round, and brave men bending o’er him?

Not on his fields of victory, nor in his council hall,

The worn and sorrowful leader hears the inevitable call,

Alone he perished in the land he saved from slavery’s ban,

Maligned, and doubted, and denied, a broken-hearted man.”

But the question naturally arises, how is it possible that Bolivar should have liberated his country, and preserved in himself the supreme power, without superior talents? To this General Holstein replies:—“If by ‘liberating his country’ it be meant that he has given his country a free government, I answer, that he has not done so. If it be meant that he has driven out the Spaniards, I answer that he has done little, or nothing, towards this; far less, certainly, than the meanest of the subordinate chieftains. To the question, how he can have retained his power without superior talents, I answer, in the firstplace, that the reputation of superior talents goes a great way.... The stupid management of the Spanish authorities has facilitated all the operations of the patriots. The grievous faults of Bolivar and some of his generals have been exceeded by those of his adversaries. It is not strange, therefore, that Bolivar should have been able to do all that he has done with very limited talents.”

A late writer on Venezuela—Señor Miguel Tejera—has thus summed up the character of Bolivar.

“Bold and fortunate as Alexander, a patriot like Hannibal, brave and clement like Cæsar, a great captain and profound statesman like Napoleon, honourable as Washington, a sublime poet, a versatile orator, such was Bolivar, who united in his own mind all the vast multiplicity of the elements of genius. His glory will shine in the heaven of history, not as a meteor that passes and is lost in the bosom of space, but as a heavenly body whose radiance is ever increasing.”

Between two such extremes of blame and praise as those I have quoted, a middle line may perhaps give a true estimate of the character of the Liberator; and, though his fame may not have been spotless, though he may have been neither a great warrior nor a statesman, yet he was a patriot, and above all, successful. Alive, he was by turns a demi-god and an impostor; dead, his beautiful monument in the Cathedral of Carácas testifies to the reverence of the nation.

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