RIO DE JANEIRO.
BAY OF RIO.—SCENERY.—ASPECT OF THE CITY.—ROYAL PALACE AND
CHAPEL.—LANCERS AND BABY.—MISERACORDIA.—AQUEDUCT.—MORNING
RIDE.—BOTANIC GARDEN.—TEA-PLANT.—THE SABBATH IN
RIO.—MUSEUM.—NUNNERY.—JEALOUSY OF HUSBANDS.—A POMPOUS FUNERAL.—THE
PLYMOUTH.—HON. HENRY A. WISE.—SLAVE-TRADE.—MARRIAGES AND DOMESTIC
ARRANGEMENTS.—POLITICAL CONDITION OF THE BRAZILIANS.—TREATMENT OF
THE SLAVES.—RELIGION.—WASHER-WOMEN.—SAN ANTONIO.—CLIMATE.—THE
UNKNOWN COUPLE.—DIAMONDS.—FAREWELL TO RIO.
Land ho—from the mast-head swelling,
On the breeze its music throws,
Like the tones of angels, telling
Where the soul may find repose.
SUNDAY, DEC. 21. We found ourselves on Sunday morning off the harbor of
Rio. The first object that here arrests the eye is a rocky isle swelling
abruptly from the sea, and crowned with a pharos, that had thrown its
light some thirty miles to us the night before. Between this and the
main land on the left, soars another mass of rocks, while a
corresponding one rises with a savage aspect on the right. These
wave-encircled bastions resemble those posted by nature on either side
of the Dardanelles, through which the grim spirits of Europe and Asia
challenge each other.
[Illustration: RIO DE JANEIRO]
Within the entrance on the left rise the steep sides of Sugar-loaf
mountain, while on the right frowns the lofty fortress of Santa Cruz.
Further in looms the fortified isle of Lagem, commanding the central
passage, and throwing its protection over the romantic cove, from which
Bota Foga looks out upon the waters. As the eye wanders further up the
bay, it encounters the island of Cobras, buried under its frowning
batteries, and the Ville-Gagnon with its castellated summits; while on
the opposite side a giant rock has walked out into the waters, and taken
up its lofty, independent position.
The bay, studded with picturesque islands, circles up bold and beautiful
some thirty miles into the main land. The shore presents here a
glittering beach, which retreats into the green recesses of a deep
ravine, and is there overhung by some stupendous cliff, which throws its
dark shadows below. The whole bay is like a resplendent lake looking to
heaven amid Alpine pinnacles. High above all soars the steep Corcovada,
where plays the first blush of morn, and where the dying day lingers;
while the Organ mountains, with their sharp peaks, pour down the harmony
of the winds. All between these lofty barriers and the quiet bay
presents a forest of fantastic cones; while swinging depths of shade
wave over the glad rills that leap down their sides, and make music at
their base. It would seem as if some volcano had thrown up these hills
in a frolic; or as if some Titanic spirit, imbued with a love of the
wonderful, had been permitted to work out its conceptions in these wild
shapes.
The city descends from mountain coves to the strand of the bay, like a
spreading stream, which encounters here a rolling hill and there a
projecting bluff. Some of the elevations are crowned with public
edifices, but no princely palace, gorgeous dome, or glittering spire,
strongly arrests the eye. The architecture of man here is so inferior to
that of nature, it ought to make an apology whenever it shows itself. It
is like the tent of an Arab throwing up its dirty cone beneath the
magnificent umbrage of the palm. It is said the genius of a people is in
harmony with the scenery in the midst of which they have been reared;
but here is scenery that might almost throw sunbows over the dreams of
the dead, and architecture sombre enough to send even a Quaker to sleep.
Such is the aspect of the city as seen from our frigate, swinging at her
anchors in front of the imperial palace. A nearer view may possibly
bring out some concealed beauty. But cities, like fashionable women, are
very apt to betray their charms at the first blush.
MONDAY, DEC. 22. I visited the shore to-day, in company with Dr. Mosely
and Mr. Spieden, our purser. We landed in front of the palace-square. A
flight of broken wood steps took us to the top of the sea-wall, where we
found ourselves on a paved parapet, presenting an open area of several
hundred feet, which was broken only by the dark form of a fountain, from
which the water fell in profusion. We here encountered a swarm of
half-naked slaves, sufficiently diversified in their features to
represent every African tribe from which they were stolen. Some had not
lost their first look of wonder, while others seemed as those in whom
grief and hope had long since perished. They were engaged in
transporting merchandise, and seemed to be the walking drays of the
city. They carry these enormous burdens on their heads, and trot along
with a sonorous grunt, which works itself off into a sort of song. You
wonder how they can have so much wind to spare for their tune.
We next encountered a little carriage, with a child in it, drawn by a
diminutive pony. You might almost put the whole establishment into a
good sized market-basket. It was attended by some half dozen slaves, who
seemed extremely anxious about their charge. Where they were going I
know not; but the whole group presented a striking picture of the
extremes of human life. That child would have been just as happy in the
strong arms of its nurse; the globe would probably have turned on its
axle just as long; but parental pride and folly would not have been
gratified. This is a small outbreak of the aristocratic sentiment—a
sentiment not primitive.
“When Adam delved and Eve span,
Where was then the gentleman?”
The royal palace has no charms of architecture. It is a long, low, and
rather heavy-looking building, with ballustraded windows, and stuccoed
walls. Within the iron gratings of the court the form of a black soldier
moved to and fro, on guard; while others stretched at length on benches,
or sitting in the corners of the walls, were sound asleep. The whole was
a breathing type of that listlessness and slumber which falls on the
soldier guarding in a time of profound peace an empty palace. This
palace might be converted into a warehouse without ever awaking in the
visiter a suspicion of the regal use to which it had been put.
We passed on to the royal chapel, which stands near by, and which
communicates with the palace through the silent halls of a monastery.
The exterior of the chapel presents only its front to the eye,
surmounted by a cross, and relieved by a mimic crown which reposes in a
central niche. The interior is adorned with a profusion of gilding, and
contains several private boxes, where the occupants may conceal
themselves behind crimson curtains. We found in the oratory a dozen
priests or monks, chanting their devotions. Two of them were laughing
most immoderately. They seemed to make every effort to suppress their
risible impulses, and would now and then succeed so far as to present
for a moment a grave countenance, but the ludicrous would immediately
gain the ascendency, and the laughter burst out. I once saw the gravity
of a whole congregation in one of our largest country churches
irretrievably disturbed. An owl had perched himself on the key of the
arch directly over the choir; the clergyman had given out the hymn
commencing with the words,
“Hark from the tombs, a doleful sound.”
As the singers rose, and just as the leader was going to pitch the
pathetic tune, the owl, as if taking this duty on himself, gave a solemn
hoot! They who were troubled with a quick sense of the ludicrous,
couldn’t hold in for a moment, and the infection spread to the whole
congregation.
TUESDAY, DEC. 23. I came near being captured to-day by a troop of
lancers. They were riding at full speed before two carriages, in one of
which lay the infant emperor, in its nurse’s arms, and in the other
chatted the servants in attendance on the baby. The lancers had the
important bearing of Roman cohorts, ushering Cæsar into the imperial
city after the triumphs of his African campaign. How far the baby was
benefitted by this military display, or the lactant provisions of its
nurse increased, I was not informed.
Turning away, I soon encountered a woman with her infant lashed to her
back. The little fellow reposed in the bunt of a shawl, the corners of
which were fastened over the breast of his mother. He kept his eye on
me, as I walked behind him, but with no signs of fear; he well knew that
the love which carried him would protect him. His mother was still in
youth, moved with an elastic step, and evinced her cheerfulness of heart
in her animated face. How strikingly this group contrasts itself with
that in the imperial carriage! Pomp was there, but heart here. Between a
venal homage of soldiers and a mother’s love who could hesitate? The
last will live and throb with undying strength, when the other is a
breathless mockery.
WEDNESDAY, DEC. 24. We visited to-day the Miseracordia, a noble monument
of Brazilian humanity. Hundreds, who would otherwise have died unnoticed
and unknown in the streets, have here experienced, in their last hours,
those attentions which religion and benevolence bestow upon the
destitute and helpless. A statue of the Emperor, in the finest Carrara
marble, is being executed by an Italian artist, for this institution, at
the private expense of a wealthy Brazilian.
Long may that statue stand on its pedestal, a true symbol of the
humanity of him whom it represents. One king in an hospital has more
true glory than a thousand on the field of carnage. It is a false view
of the moral characteristics of our nature, to find more honor in
killing a man than comforting him. It is doing homage to the thieves,
who robbed the traveller and left him for dead, instead of the good
Samaritan, who bound up his wounds and took him to an inn.
We passed on to the Aqueduct, which is brought over this section of the
city upon a succession of lofty arches, which sweep high over the
dwellings. This national work, constructed under the viceroyalty of
Vasconcellas, is in imitation of the Alcantra aqueduct at Lisbon, and
reflects lasting honor on its projector. It is supplied with water from
artificial lakes in the Corcovada mountain. The summit of this mountain
is covered with wild forest trees, which being cooler than the
surrounding atmosphere, condense the vapor, which falls in showers into
these lakes. To this beautiful law of nature Rio is indebted for that
refreshing element without which she would be but little better than a
desert.
In giving a community pure water to drink, you take from the tippler his
standing apology for putting rum in it. You reduce him to that pain in
the stomach from which he finds no relief except in the minted toddy.
When among the temperate, this perpetual colic will sometimes twist him
almost double. Poor fellow! to have such a pain, and no relief except in
rum, and even this very much embarrassed by the refusal of others to
drink it. What business has a man to stop drinking himself, if doing so
makes it disreputable in others? He should be held responsible for
bringing odium on that horn of poor human nature’s dilemma. Let whisky
be as plenty as water, and it would be a beastly disgrace to get drunk
on it. Can three cents turn vulgarity into gentility, shame into honor,
and guilt into innocence?
“O would some power the giftie gie us,
To see oursels as others see us.”
THURSDAY, DEC. 25. Mr. Livingston, Dr. Mosely, Mr. Spieden, with myself,
chartered this morning a carriage-and-four for the day. Our first drive
was to the residence of the American minister, some three miles out of
the city, and in the centre of a vast variety of rural charms. We found
Mr. Wise listening to the grievances of two American sailors, who had
been unceremoniously thrown ashore by their captains. His action was
prompt and energetic, as it always is when there are rights to be
vindicated, or wrongs to be redressed.
We spent a very agreeable and entertaining hour with him, and called for
our carriage, when we discovered that our postillion had unharnessed his
steeds and put them very quietly to the manger, thinking, no doubt, that
as the fodder would cost him nothing, it was by no means best to let it
pass. While he was harnessing up, a servant connected with the imperial
palace came in for his Christmas token. He had called, it seemed, on the
morning of the happy day, and wished the American minister a merry
Christmas, and had now come for his fee. The same call, with the same
salutation, had been made on all the foreign ministers, and all were
expected to “shell out” very liberally on the occasion. Usage is law,
and the result is very expensive merry wishes. I intend next year to
wish the whole world a merry Christmas.
Seated once more in our carriage, we found our postillion whirling us
back to the city, instead of taking the rode to the Botanic Garden, to
which we were bound. We explained our wishes to him, thinking he labored
under a misapprehension; but a shrug of his shoulders convinced us that
he was acting from obstinacy. We then poured our remonstrances,
reproaches, and threats upon him, in half a dozen different languages,
creating quite a little Babel. Shaking his head like one whose purpose,
but not will, is broken, he turned into the right road, and drove his
horses, at the top of their speed, under a broiling sun, to Bota Foga,
about half the distance to the Garden, but then brought up in front of a
restaurant, declaring his horses could proceed no further.
We ordered for them a bucket or two of fresh water, and after resting a
few moments, directed the postillion to drive on; but not a step would
he budge. Here was a poser, a sort of crisis in our affairs, as
political leaders say when they wish to rally the strength of their
party. We gave our postillion one minute in which to decide whether he
would drive us to the Garden, or be ousted from his seat to make room
for another who would drive us there. He waited till the last second,
and then started off sulkily, as one in doubt whether to fight or yield.
At last we reached the little hotel near the Garden, where we alighted,
and directed the keeper to take the best care of the horses. In the mean
time, we pushed into a neighboring grove, where we indulged in the
luxuries of a lunch, which our provident purser had brought from the
ship, and for which our ride had given us a keen appetite. This
finished, and a few segars whiffed off, we directed a dinner, and
proceeded to the Garden.
This refreshing retreat from the heat and dust of the city, derives its
leading attractions from its location. Beyond rolls the sea, and over it
towers the lofty Corcovada. It occupies some fifty acres, and is
intersected by winding walks, which are overhung with forest shade.
Several of the plats are devoted to the cultivation of the tea-plant,
which had been introduced by the father of the present emperor. Although
the plant has never succeeded to perfection, it has approached it
sufficiently to have satisfied the good ladies of Boston, whose husbands
had thrown their Chinese dreams into the sea. What a scene such an
interference with the phlegathontic weed would create around our
hearths! Think you our ladies would so quietly have taken to spearmint
and sage? But let that pass.
In other plats we met with the cinnamon, the red pepper, and the clove,
all in fruit. But aromatics are the last plants that will consent to
carry their fragrance with them into foreign climes. The walks are
overhung with the mango, the orange, the marmosa, and dark olive, while
the croton and plantain cast in every coppice the deep umbrage of their
forest gloom.
On one side of the garden a silver-footed streamlet dashes down the
steeps of the Corcovada, like a girl escaping from a crabbed aunt for
Gretna Green. Near this rises an elliptical mound, crowned with a
beautiful bower of the arbor vitæ. This vivacious shrub allows itself to
be twisted into a thousand fantastic shapes, without a thought of dying.
In this bower, which is so thickly interlaced as to exclude the sun, I
sought a wicker couch, and, lulled by the lapse of the waters, and the
melody of a mourning bird, fell asleep, and dreamed of
“Groves, whose rich trees wept odorous gums and balm,
Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose.”
We returned to the hotel, discussed a very indifferent dinner, ordered
up our carriage, and started on our return to the city. The evening came
in with a soft beautiful twilight. We passed many family groups seated
in the front yards of their houses enjoying the hour. Here and there was
one who had deeper thoughts than her younger sisters, and whose large
black eyes were often turned to the climbing moon.
We called on our return upon Mr. Furgeson, our naval store-keeper at
Rio, a situation which he fills with a fidelity and business tact, which
have the merited confidence of the department.
The evening had well advanced when we reached the city. We discharged
our postillion in the same sulky humor in which he had been all day. He
had the look and air of an old pirate, thrown by some freak of fortune
into livery, and upon the box of a coach instead of the scaffold. All
his ill temper arose from the fact that we had not promised him a
gratuity. We had engaged to give his employer twelve dollars for the
carriage, and we should not have forgotten him had he been civil and
obliging. His conduct, like that of most people when they get out of
temper, worked him only evil.
Ill fortune rides ill will where’er it leads.
FRIDAY, DEC. 26. The United States frigate Columbia, commanded by Capt.
Richie, and bearing the broad pennant of Commodore Rousseau, arrived
this morning from Norfolk. She has had, by a singular coincidence, the
same passage as the Congress—fifty-two days. I was right glad to find on
board of her, as chaplain, my esteemed friend, the Rev. T. R. Lambert. A
portion of her crew are down with the smallpox, which broke out in the
person of one of her marines several days after she had sailed. All
direct communication with her has been interdicted; but we met her
officers, who are very agreeable associates, on shore. We expected
letters by the Columbia, but her departure followed so fast on our own
that very few were sent.
The Columbia is a fine frigate, combining speed, strength, and grace of
architecture. Near her swings the frigate Raritan, under the command of
Captain Gregory. She has less beauty than her sister, is low between her
decks, and her spikes, with their black heads, disfigure her planks; but
she rides the water gracefully, and is a swift sailor. For this,
however, she may be indebted, in some degree, to the skill of her
commander, whose sagacity in detecting and bringing out the latent
qualities of a ship is seldom baffled. Her wardroom, though dark from
without, has light from within; not that which strays from a few dim
tapers, but from the spirit that is in man, and which will still stream
on when life’s taper itself is out.
SATURDAY, DEC. 27. Her Britannic Majesty’s frigate President, under the
command of Rear-Admiral Dacres, entered the harbor to-day, and let go
her anchors within a few cables length of us. She is the new-fledged
phenix of the old one, captured from us in the last war. The parent has
perished, but her memory still survives in the glorious triumphs of
Decatur, as well as in this fledgling which bears her name. The old bird
was captured by an overwhelming superiority of force; not by greater
tact or courage. No laurels were won or lost.
The offspring which has arisen from her relics, is now bearing the
pennant of one who was himself, while commanding the Guerrier, captured
by the Constitution, under Commodore Hull. But he fought his ship well;
it was no want of courage that allowed victory to perch on our flag. He
had no resource but to surrender, or sink in a dismantled hulk. The
English journals affected to prefer the last catastrophe; but this does
very well for those who are not themselves in the hulk. The bubbles
which brim the watery grave of the sailor may break and disappear as
other bubbles; but when they ascend from our own strangling gasps, they
carry with them agonies which should shake a world. The capture of the
Guerrier, and the triumphs which followed, broke the charm of British
invincibility. That dream of supremacy fled the ocean, never to return—
“That spell upon the minds of men,
Broke, never to unite again.”
SUNDAY, DEC. 28. Were a stranger to the religious habits of a Catholic
community thrown into Rio on the Sabbath, he would think he had mistaken
his sabbatical calendar. He would think he had arrived on some holiday,
in which the serious concerns of life yield to gayety. He would see this
spirit of social mirth pervading all classes. Even the bells would have
a glee in their tones. He would find the priests in the promenade
instead of the pulpit, with their large-rimmed hats rolled up over the
ear, and the solemnity of their sable gowns in singular contrast with
the levity that runs through their manner.
Such is the Sabbath where the principles of Protestantism have not
obtained, and where its spirit is not felt. It is a day of amusement and
recreation. Such it has ever been in every country where the genius of
papacy has been paramount. Such it is now in Italy, France, Portugal,
and Spain. Let the see of Rome roll its waves over the Protestant
institutions of the United States, and it would sweep the sanctity of
the Sabbath from the land. There would not be enough of its vitality
left to embalm the memory of our pilgrim fathers. To rebuke those who
abuse religion is not to disparage its spirit.
“All hail, Religion! maid divine,
Pardon a muse so mean as mine,
Who, in his rough, imperfect line,
Thus dares to name thee;
To stigmatize false friends of thine,
Can ne’er defame thee.”
MONDAY, DEC. 20. Visited the Museum of Natural History. Here the
beautiful birds of Brazil speak in dumb show, and her minerals seem to
mourn their mines. But the specimens are not extensive. The Public
Library, in another building, contains some twenty thousand volumes,
which slumber in dust on their shelves. The Academy of Fine Arts has a
few specimens in statuary and painting; but none that would kindle an
eye that has once gazed on the triumphs of a Phidias or a Raphael. The
Opera House has elegant and ample accommodations for spectators, but no
performers.
All these institutions were established by Don Pedro I., but have been
on the decline since his abdication. It was his ambition to make Rio a
second Lisbon; but his plans outran his means. Mafra Castle alone, with
its time-honored towers and their hundred and twenty bells, rolling out
their anthems on the airs of old Portugal, leave all that Rio can
present, like an afterpiece from which the auditory has escaped.
The great mass of the laboring classes in Rio subsist on the farina of
the jatrapha-plant, made into a coarse bread, called _pan de tierre
caliente_. It is manufactured from the same plant of which the tapioca
is obtained. This, with the black bean, which grows in great abundance,
is with them the staple of life. The more luxurious bread-stuffs are
imported. Even meat, amidst all this teeming vegetation, is scarce and
dear. Every thing here runs to coffee, of which a hundred and thirty
millions of pounds are exported annually, which goes to foreign markets,
and brings back, in the great circle of commerce, the products of every
other clime.
TUESDAY, DEC. 30. Visited the queen’s garden, which covers some six
acres, and lies within the environs of the city, between the
Miseracordia and Gloria Hill, and opens by a broad terrace on the bay.
The gravelled walks, which sweep around in every direction, are
over-arched by swinging masses of shade. The cassia waves here by the
side of the silver-leaved myrtle, and the imperial laurel—the shamrock
of Brazil—turns its green yellow-striped leaves to the sun; while two
small pyramids of granite stand as grim sentinels over the proprieties
of the place. A tough job, it is said, they have of it, when the young
of the city flock here in the evening, though their watch duties are
aided by conjugal jealousy and parental vigilance.
Not far removed from the garden, and in harmony with some of its
associations, stands a nunnery, which, considering the uses to which it
is put, might with propriety be called the bridal prison. Husbands,
leaving the country or the city for any length of time, are in the habit
of shutting up their wives and children in this nunnery. A beautiful
exhibition of conjugal love and confidence! But where are the confessors
all this time with their compulsory vows of celibacy, and that latitude
of conscience which compulsion always leaves? Better to trust a wife to
her own affections than the guidance of men whom superstition has
invested with the power to pardon the errors of human frailty, who can
commit sin one hour, and cancel it with all parties the next.
Ecclesiastical rules and regulations, which deprive any portion of the
community of the privileges of the marriage state, pave the way to
crime. They are a violation of the laws of nature and nature’s God.
On our return we stopped at the imperial chapel, where preparations were
making for a sumptuous funeral. The chapel was brilliantly lighted; the
priests were in their gorgeous robes; and the dark carriage of the dead
soon arrived, with four black horses, and postillions in sable plumes.
The body was placed near the great altar, candles were placed in the
hands of those who crowded the nave, and amid a shower of light the
chant for the repose of the soul began.
One of the candles set fire to the long locks of a fashionable youth
standing near the bier. The priest who was sprinkling the holy water,
dashed a shower of it upon his head, while a suppressed laughter shook
the whole crowd. The prayers finished,—the bier was removed to the
enclosure in the rear of the church, the body taken from the coffin, and
thrown up into a niche in the wall, resembling a baker’s oven. It was
tossed in head first, and the aperture being small and high, it required
no little tact in the swinging and cant to secure it a proper lodgment.
Lime and holy water were then cast upon it, and the orifice closed.
Sooner than have such a burial as this, with scorching hair, laughter,
an oven, and dissolving lime, let me glide from earth unnoticed and
unknown, as a flower falls in the pathless wilderness, and let my grave
be a sunless cave of ocean, only let me have there as mourner:—
The mermaid, whose elegiac shell
Shall pour its tender stave,
In many a wild and fond farewell
Around my sea-green grave.
WEDNESDAY, DEC. 31. Visited to-day the Plymouth, under the command of
Capt. Henry. She is one of the most finished specimens of naval
architecture afloat; and the neatness of her internal appearance
corresponds with her outward grace and beauty. Her light spar-deck,
running flush fore and aft, unencumbered by a gun; her bulwarks sweeping
from stem to stern without a breaking beam, and clouded into the hue of
the pearl; her gun-carriages exhibiting through their hard varnish the
native grain of the oak, and the guns presenting the hard polish of
their cylinders; her stanchions of burnished iron, her sides and bends
without a weather-stain, and her hammocks rising above their netting
white as the snow-drift,—all have the finest effect. She reflects, in
every aspect in which she may be viewed, the highest credit on the taste
and professional skill of Captain Henry and his officers.
She came here from the Mediterranean, after having visited most of the
ports in that sea, and paid her respects to the grand sultan at
Constantinople. She was there, as she is here, the admiration of all who
visited her. Such a ship as this, with the soft clime of Italy, the
storied shores of Greece, and the classic associations of the Ægean
isles, would be the perfection of cruising with the scholar, and would
involve nothing incompatible with the sterner purposes of a man-of-war.
THURSDAY, JAN. 1, 1846. This is new-year’s day, and the anniversary of
the discovery of the bay of Rio by Salis. The Brazilian flag is flying
from the public buildings and the masts of all the vessels in the
harbor. Salutes from fortifications and national ships are pouring their
reverberating thunder among the hills.
Commodore Stockton has graced the occasion in the shape of a splendid
dinner to the Hon. Henry A. Wise. Many ladies and gentlemen of Rio, with
the officers of the English and American squadrons, were present. The
most perfect good feeling prevailed; many patriotic sentiments went
round; and many recollections of home melted their way into our hearts.
The honor of the occasion was for Mr. Wise; nor was it unworthily
bestowed. He has been a firm, devoted friend to the navy; he has stood
by her in her darkest hours, and found, in the triumphs of the past, a
bright prophecy of the future. He has been, at the court of Brazil, the
fearless champion of the rights and claims of humanity. He has shrunk
from no efforts and no responsibility in crushing the slave-trade. Where
selfish ease suggested silence, he has spoken; where timidity urged a
temporizing indifference, he has resolutely acted. His moral firmness
has made him the terror of every slaver, and of all connected with this
accursed traffic. If he resigns his present post, may his successor, in
this respect at least, tread in his footsteps.
FRIDAY, JAN. 2. A Brazilian lady was pointed out to me to-day who is but
twelve years of age, and who has two children, who were frolicking
around her steps. She was married at ten to a wealthy merchant of
sixty-five,—a spring violet caught in a curling snow-drift! But ladies
here marry extremely young. They have hardly done with their fictitious
babies, when they have the smiles and tears of real ones. Their parents
make the matches, as well they may at that age; and they ought in
conscience to retain still the spanking privilege, and exercise it down
to the third generation.
The evidences of consideration here turn upon a two or four wheeled
vehicle, which is kept in the basement story of the house, and throws
the sheen of its varnish on the eye of the passer. Whether there is a
horse to draw it or not, is a matter of comparatively little importance.
It answers its essential purpose without. It is a quiet indication of
rank, and all the better that its slumber is seldom broken.
In the parlors and apartments above, you find the transmitted furniture
of past generations. Antiquity has a charm against which novelty cannot
prevail. The same chair in which the departed ancestor trembled between
this life and the next, still stands by the verandah, where budding
beauty breathes and throbs. The same old harp, which was swept by a hand
that has long since forgotten its cunning, now wakes to melody under the
touch of one in whom life’s earliest pulses play. Its music ever floats
between the cradle and the grave.
SATURDAY, JAN. 3. This is a holiday at Rio, and the calkers from shore,
who are at work on our frigate, knocked off last evening, refusing to
come this morning unless their per diem should be raised fifty per cent.
As we are anxious to get to sea, their demand has been complied with.
Conscience, it would seem, has no concern in the matter, though it is a
saint’s day, and one of the most sacred in their calendar. How very
convenient when that little inward troubler can be tied up in a man’s
purse, and stowed away in his breeches pocket!
Rio is a city without chimneys, and strikes one as a regiment of
soldiers without caps. A vein of smoke is never seen circling up over
its red-tiled roofs. The mildness of the climate dispenses with all
parlor fires, except the gleam of the braséro. The houses, which rarely
exceed two stories, are built of fragmented stones and a species of
mortar, which the air indurates into the solidity of a cement. The
parlors are in the second story, and open out on a verandah. The
servants divide the ground-floor with the old spaniel, who looks out
from the dusky background like the lion of Agamemnon, still keeping
stern watch over his master’s gloomy shrine.
The domestic habits of the Brazilians, and their household economy, are
closely shrouded; yet now and then, like guilty love, they betray
themselves through their very disguises. They have but little confidence
in their own virtue, and still less in yours; and, as might be expected,
betray and are betrayed. Redress for such grievances is seldom sought
through the forms of law. The stiletto makes less noise, and is more
certain in its results. Don Pedro I. put his very throne in jeopardy by
his profligacies. He brought ruin and indignant shame into some of the
first families in Brazil. His victims were in every circle. The
conditions of office involved their marriage, without interfering with
this illicit relation. He was abusive to his wife, as false husbands
generally are, and went to his grave with but little which friendship
itself would not conceal.
SUNDAY, JAN. 4. The slave-trade is still carried on in the ports of
Brazil. The government, though committed by treaty against it, connives
at the traffic. From ten to fifteen thousand slaves are imported
annually. Of these the Mina, from the north interior of Africa, brings
with him the greatest force of character. He never trifles with the
misfortunes of his lot, and submits indignantly to a state of servitude.
He speaks his deep-sounding Arabic, and looks with contempt upon the
twattle of the other tribes. He has the bearing of one conscious of
resources in himself. His energy and industry often procure him his
liberty. His presence in Brazil puts the stability of her institutions
in peril. It is apprehended he may one day strike for unconditional
freedom. He is not a being who will crave quarter, or be very likely to
grant it. It will be with him a life and death struggle.
MONDAY, JAN. 5. The United States frigate Raritan has arrived from La
Plata, and reports that the English and French are still engaged
fighting their way up the Parana for the purpose of opening a permanent
communication with the interior provinces. The general opinion here is,
that Governor Rosas will be obliged to abandon the blockade of Monte
Video, and consent to the commercial communications demanded by England
and France. Popular opinion here runs strongly in favor of free trade
the world over.
The Brazilians do not like the interference of European powers in the
affairs of this continent, but they dislike anarchy and despotism still
more. They are the advocates of free constitutional government, and have
embodied its most essential principles in their political institutions.
The Emperor of Brazil has but little more power than the President of
the United States. Law take its shape from the national legislature, and
from that branch of it which expresses the popular will. This branch can
at any time force a joint vote with the senate, and carry a measure by
its numerical strength. This can indeed be vetoed by the emperor, but it
would be an exercise of prerogative seldom resorted to, and never, I
believe, where the popular will has been clearly expressed.
The condition of the slave population here is much less abject and
wretched than I expected to find it. Slaves are generally treated with
kindness and humanity by their masters. Their color operates less to
their prejudice than with us. Their freedom, in many cases, lies within
their reach, and may be obtained, as it often is, by industry and
frugality. The owner who should demand an exorbitant price for a slave,
who wishes to earn his freedom, would be severely censured. When free,
he goes to the ballot-box, and is eligible to a seat in the national
legislature.
Nor would anybody here go into hysterics should he marry a woman whose
skin should be a shade whiter than his own. It is for us Americans to
preach up humanity, freedom, and equality, and then turn up our blessed
noses if an African takes a seat at the same table on board a steamboat.
Even in our churches he is obliged to look out some obscure nook, and
dodge along towards heaven as if he had no business on the “narrow way.”
The misery is, that they who preach equality the loudest, are generally
the last to practice it. They are generally for levelling downwards; but
give me the man who tries to level upwards. Give me the man whose smiles
are like the rays of the sun—if they strike the loftiest objects first,
it is only that they may glance to the lowest.
TUESDAY, JAN. 6. The religion of the Brazilians, as seen in their
legislative policy, is less trammelled by superstition than in most
countries where Papacy prevails. The Pope, a few years since, sent a
legate to this court. It is expected, in such cases, that the salary of
the legate will be paid by the country to which he is accredited. But
the Brazilian legislature, not having the fear of the Vatican before
their eyes, voted that his holiness might pay his own representative. He
was of course recalled. Such has been the abuse here of ecclesiastical
supremacy, such its interference in political affairs, and such its
onerous pecuniary exactions, that there has been a sweeping reaction,
and the civil power of the Pope is openly set at defiance.
As for the priests here, should they attempt to set up any secular
authority, they would only expose themselves to derision. There is
vastly more reverence for the decisions of the Papal see among the Roman
Catholics of our country, than there is among the Brazilians. Were a
bishop here to interfere at an election, it would cost him his
episcopate. It is for us Americans to submit to such an outrage on the
sanctity of the ballot-box.
WEDNESDAY, JAN. 7. I encountered to-day, on a large public square within
the environs of the city, a washing-scene, which was rather primitive.
The square is carpeted with green grass medallioned with flowers, and
shaded here and there by clusters of forest trees. In the midst stands a
fountain, from which the water falls in light showers into an immense
basin. In this basin some two hundred females, of every age, clime, and
color, were dashing their clothes, and rubbing them on the great sweep
of the curb-stone. Their apparel, what little they had on, was fastened
above the knee; the water in the basin was a pool of foaming suds, and
they were jumping about in it like the Nereids of the Nile. The younger
ones were full of mischief, and displayed their agility in tripping each
other up. The fall of one into the suds was followed by a general shout.
How they escaped having their clothes inextricably mixed up in this
general melée of the great wash-tub, was a mystery to me.
On the green were hundreds of others occupied with their clothes. Some
were snapping them in the wind; some spreading them on the grass to dry;
some folding them up and depositing them in baskets, to be transported
on their heads home; and others were under the shade of the trees
asleep. Some trick, however, such as a dash of water from the bowl, was
sure to await the dreamer; and then another laugh would be thrown on the
wind. As twilight came on, all this panorama of life, with its breathing
forms, its triumphs in laundry, and its merriments, disappeared. Nothing
but the whisper of the leaf, or the bubble which still floated on the
fountain, remained to tell where such a bustle had been.
What a magnificent wash-tub one of our great western lakes would make!
It would hold all the clothes, clean and unclean, which cover the human
race. There is only one difficulty in the way of this arrangement: it
would be a little awkward to have the lake freeze over in the dead of
winter. This, however, might be prevented by introducing under it the
volcano of Vesuvius, which is of no use where it now stands. This done,
and Whitney’s railroad to the Pacific finished, and we shall truly be a
great nation. But our women will never consent to have the _small
clothes_ perilled in Lake Superior; so there is an end to the whole
business.
THURSDAY, JAN. 8. Rambled on shore to-day with Lieut. Gray, and returned
several calls. Every family in Rio, where superstition asserts her sway,
has two things, an image of St. Antonio and a whip. If the saint, after
being duly invoked, still refuses to grant the boon craved, he is taken
down from his niche and soundly whipped. This chastisement is repeated
till the prayer is answered, or some priest interferes, and consoles the
disappointed with the persuasion that the blessing sought has been, or
will be, conferred in some other form. This compulsory process with a
saint, accounts for the maimed state in which you always find poor
Antonio here. There is something unique and interesting in this mode of
obtaining benefactions. If a saint wont shell out, when he has the
power, why should he not be whipped as well as a sinner?
We encountered to-day a Brazilian lady of rank in her palankeen. She was
carried by two sturdy slaves, and followed by a retinue of servants. She
was evidently bound on a visit to some female acquaintance, with whom
she expected to spend the day. Her attendants must also be provided for.
Such an arrival in a quiet family would turn the whole house
topsy-turvy. The further we get from the heart, the more bustle we make.
The forms of fashionable etiquette, like feathers in a lady’s bonnet,
are full of flare and flutter.
FRIDAY, JAN. 9. On shore to-day with Lieutenant Tilghman, rambling
through the environs of the city, and on the green hills which overlook
the bay. Capt. Wilkes, in his history of the exploring expedition, calls
this place St. Salvador. The Brazilians laugh at the misnomer, and enjoy
it the more as the captain’s comments are deemed by them censorious and
unjust. It was an unfortunate slip of the pen to write St. Salvador for
St. Sebastian, and still more unfortunate to stereotype it into
immortality.
The primitive name of this splendid bay is Nitherohi, which means
concealed water, and is beautifully significant of its phenomena, as
they unroll their wonders on the eye. And what a liquid name is that
Nitherohi! it fairly melts on the tongue. It is Indian in its origin,
and should never have been dropped for any saint in the calendar. But in
Catholic countries, Eden itself would soon cease to go by its proper
name.
I do not wonder the Brazilians are deficient in enterprise and energy.
No physical force can withstand the enervating influences of this
climate, and that listlessness which it induces. Not one exhilarating
pulse heaves the heart. You feel as one walking in a half-exhausted
receiver. The heat at this season is intense; the atmosphere often
humid, and your whole frame yields to lassitude. How can a man attempt
any thing great, when the least exertion throws him into perspiration,
and even to dream seems an effort! It is as much as I can do to muster
up resolution enough to pen this feeble page; and as for the reader he
will probably fall asleep over it.
SATURDAY, JAN. 10. We had to-day a forcible specimen of Rio showers. We
were in Rua d’Ouvidor, which is lined with the most fashionable shops in
the city, when a black cloud, sailing down from the Corcovada peak,
rolled out the lake, which lay in its bosom. The street was immediately
filled with a flood of sufficient depth to float a family canoe. The
inclined plane of the street carried it off in a rapid torrent. The sun
again struck the pavement, and we were at liberty to renew our walk.
Were such a flood to rush down Broadway, our New Yorkers would think
their Croton reservoir had burst its last boundary. But here it creates
as little commotion as the breaking of a bubble on the public fountain.
The fruits of Rio are delicious; richer oranges and bananas the houri
never shook from the blooming boughs of Mahomet’s horticultural heaven.
But the milk here, or the liquid sold under that name, has less of the
lacteal element in it than water filtered through the “milky-way.” For
this attenuated dilution our steward pays twenty cents the quart. Rumor
says it is procured from the maternal functions of a tribe of slaves,
who are wonderfully endowed in this particular, and who act as a class
of wet-nurses to the community. Be the rumor true or not, it was very
difficult to use it after this idea had once entered the imagination. It
was hurrying one rather too fast into his second childhood. Would it
bring back our first infancy, with its innocent glee, it would do. But
life’s current has no refluent tide.
SUNDAY, JAN. 11. Mr. Wise and family, with several other ladies and
gentlemen from the shore, attended divine service on board. We assembled
on the spar-deck under an awning that protected every one from the sun’s
rays. The leading points in the discourse turned on the value of the
soul, as asserted in the nature of its powers and capacities, and in the
humiliation and sufferings of the Son of God in its behalf. At the close
of the service we all joined in singing the missionary hymn; the sacred
music swelling up full and clear from so many deep-toned voices, floated
far and wide over the still waters of the bay.
The Protestants in Rio have but one place of worship—the English chapel.
They have been very unfortunate in the appointment of their chaplains.
These appointments, and those of a diplomatic and political character,
emanate substantially from the same source. Warm, devoted piety, in its
unobtrusive meekness, seems to be overlooked in the glare of other
qualities, or the erring partialities of private friendship. The last
chaplain who served here for a time and left, went into one of the West
India islands and set up a gaming table. The English chaplain at
Trieste, as I had occasion to observe, was one of the most accomplished
waltzers in the place. Such men have their place, perhaps, in this
varied world, but it is not in the missionary field. He will bring very
few sheaves home with him who has converted his sickle into a
fiddle-bow; and he will find even these few made up mostly of those
tares which the devil sowed while he frolicked or slept.
MONDAY, JAN. 12. A Brazilian gentleman of some note sent his card over
the side of our ship this morning, and was invited on board by Capt. Du
Pont, who received him and his lady at the gangway. He was tall, well
proportioned, and in his carriage combined dignity with ease. His dark
locks rolled out from under his chapeau in rich profusion. His face had
that calmness and strength in its features which express force of
intellect and benignity of heart. His dress was rich, but not gaudy;
sable in hue, and well fitted to his stately person. He spoke in French,
with a slight Brazilian accent. His questions were relevant and shrewd;
his admiration of our frigate undisguised.
His lady was slightly below him in height, and more delicate in form.
There was something peculiarly feminine in her air, and yet something
which betrayed strength of character. Her small foot rose and lit on the
deck with precision and airy lightness. Her countenance constantly
changed in the tide of its expressions. The features were extremely
regular, but you forgot their well-defined lines in the harmony of the
whole. Her eyes were large, soft, and floating, and were shaded by long
silken lashes, from which light and darkness seemed to fall. When some
thought of deep animation struck her, the emotion flushed in her cheek
like the blush of morn on a soft cloud. Her voice, though not deep, was
musical, and flowed like the low sweet warble of a bird. Such was she,
and such the one in whom her affections confided. They left the ship as
they came, without ostentation. I have been told since that he is one of
the first statesmen in Brazil.
TUESDAY, JAN. 13. Visited the shore for the last time, as we are to
weigh anchor to-morrow morning. Walked through Rua d’Ouvedor, the
Broadway of Rio, which displays in its fancy shops the fabrics and
fashions of foreign capitals; and where you can purchase every thing
from a camel’s hair shawl to a shoe-string, and from a Damascus blade to
a toothpick.
Crossed into the Rua d’Ourives, which flashes with all the jewels of
Brazil. Their rays bewilder the eyes, and sometimes the wits. Doubloons,
that are wanted for bread, are here parted with for a little pebble,
that has nothing to recommend it but its light, and even that is a
stolen ray. When Franklin’s niece wrote to him at Paris to send her some
ostrich feathers for her winter bonnet, the republican minister wrote
her—“Catch the old rooster, my child, and pull the feathers out of his
tail, they will do just as well.” What is true of the rooster’s feather,
in comparison with the plume of the ostrich, is equally true of the
common pebble by the side of the diamond. The brightest ray is that
which flashes from intellect; the warmest that which melts from the
heart.
Of the hotels in Rio the best is the Pharoux—an extensive establishment,
under Parisian arrangements, and evincing a great want of cleanliness.
If by good fortune your tester-bar keeps out the mosquito, you fall into
the hands of a still worse enemy in the shape of the flea. Besides these
annoyances, the night tubs, emptied on the beach of the bay, waft to
your window odors which make you prefer heat to air. The goddess
Cloacina ought to visit this place and order her altars under ground,
where they belong, instead of having them transported on the heads of
negroes, under the shadows of night, and sending up their exhalations,
which are enough to make the man in the moon hold his nose. But let that
pass. Flowers spring from corruption. Man pollutes, but nature purifies.
A spirit of freedom is gradually working its way into the heart of the
Brazilians. They have made a vast stride in constitutional liberty
within the last twenty years. Their government has ceased to be a
despotism. Its functions now embody the energies of the public will; its
measures look to the welfare of the great masses. The throne merely
holds in check the leaders of factions, without wantonly impairing the
freedom of the patriotic citizen. Should the period arrive, when
monarchical forms can safely be dispensed with, and the public will
tranquilly work itself out in the shape of law, Brazil will take her
station among free republics.
As the old cathedral clock struck eleven, and the lights in the
balconies grew dim, the barge of our commodore, in which we had been
invited to take a seat, parted from the strand of Rio. Again on deck, a
farewell look was thrown to its hills, sleeping in the soft moonlight.
On those hills a Byron, a Cook, a Magellan have gazed. The morn still
breaks over them, but they know it not. The world may still retain a
faint echo of their fame, but where are they? and where, in a few years,
shall we be? where are the millions, whose voices rang through the past?
Death has hushed their exulting tunes, and their monuments have crumbled
under the footstep of time. And we are passing to the same silent shore.
As the furrows of our keel pass from the face of the deep, so will the
strife, the sorrows, and the triumphs of our being, glide from the
memory of man.
“What shadows we are, and what shadows we pursue!”
[Illustration]