The famous Bay of Rio Janeiro may properly be described as a salt-water lake, so completely is it landlocked and cut off from the open sea. About thirty miles long and twenty in breadth, it is large enough to allow of spacious views, yet not so large as to lose in distance the marvellous background that is presented in every direction by the fantastic peaks that surround it. Numerous islands stud the surface, the larger telling their history in piles of huge blocks, either simulating rude Cyclopean architecture, or lying in wild confusion – granite pinnacles, half-decayed or fallen into utter ruin. The shores are everywhere a maze of coves and inlets, in which land and water are interlaced; and over all – the mainland and the islands alike – the wild riot of tropical vegetation holds its sway, defying the efforts of man to tame it to trimness. Even within the limits of the city, which stretches for about four miles along the shore, four or five coves present a ceaseless variety of outline. Of necessity the plan is completely irregular. Where a space of level ground opens out between the shore and the rocks, the city has spread out; where the rocks approach the water’s edge, it is narrowed in places to a single street. In architecture, since the great era of Alcobaça and Batalha, the Portuguese have not achieved much, and their descendants in South America have done little to adorn the capital of their great empire. The largest building, the imperial palace, might easily be taken for a barrack. Nature has undertaken the decoration of the city, and, amid the palms, and under the shade of large-leaved tropical trees in the public walks and gardens, the absence of sightly buildings is not felt.
The suburb of Botafogo, which is the fashionable quarter, lies on the shores of the most beautiful of the coves round which the city has grown up. It mainly consists of a range of handsome villas facing the sea, each with a charming garden, and, in this season, must be a delightful residence. But it is generally admitted that the climate of Rio is debilitating to European constitutions. As compared with most coast stations in the tropics the heat is not excessive – the mean temperature of the warmest month (February) is not quite 80° Fahr., and that of the coldest (July) about 70°; but most Europeans, and especially those of Germanic stock, require to be braced by intervals of cold, if they are to endure a hot climate with impunity. The annual appearance of yellow fever in the city supplies a still stronger motive to many of the foreign residents for fixing their abode amongst the hills. The chief resort, which in summer is frequented by most of the wealthier classes, is the well-known Petropolis, in the Organ Mountains, or Serra dos Orgãos, that rise beyond the northern shores of the bay.
THE AVENUE OF PALMS.
From Botafogo I directed my steps towards the Botanic Garden, and, as usual among people of Portuguese descent, found great readiness in giving information to strangers. Following a road that turned away from the shore, I seemed to have left the city far behind, and be quite in the country; but presently another beautiful dark blue cove opened out before me, and again turning inland I reached the garden. I must confess to a feeling of something like disappointment at the famous avenue of palms. It has been correctly described as reproducing the effect of the aisle of a great Gothic cathedral, and the defect, as it seemed to me, is that the reproduction is too faithful. The trees of Oreodoxa regia, which are about a hundred feet in height, are all exactly of the same form and dimensions, so much alike that they appear to have been cast in the same mould, and it is difficult to persuade one’s self that they are not artificial productions. It may not be easy to say why the same uniformity which satisfies the eye in a construction of stone, should fail to do so when similar forms are represented by natural objects. I suppose the fact to be that in all æsthetic judgments the mind is unconsciously influenced by trains of association. Our admiration is aroused not merely by given combinations of colour or form – by the mere visual image formed on the retina – but is controlled by our sense of fitness. We should resent as a caprice of the architect an irregularity in a vista of arches: among objects endowed with life we expect some manifestation of the universal tendency to variation.
With an intention, never fulfilled, to make a second visit to the garden, and, under the guidance of the director, Dr. Glaziou, to make nearer acquaintance with some of the vegetable wonders there brought together, I returned to my hotel. Before reaching Rio, I had decided to devote most of my short remaining time to a visit to the Organ Mountains, and to make Petropolis my head-quarters. As there was no especial reason for delay, I started for that place on the morning of the following day, July 9.
I shall make no attempt to describe the beauties of the bay as they were successively unfolded during the short passage to and from Petropolis. From early youth the Bay of Naples has ever appeared to me so perfectly beautiful that I was very reluctant to admit the pretensions of a rival. Even now I can well understand that some may find the pictures presented to the eye on the charmed coasts of our Mediterranean bay more complete, and the tints of the shores and sea and sky more harmonious; but there could be no doubt as to the gorgeous vesture that everywhere adorns this land. The vegetation of the Mediterranean coasts seems but poor and homely after the eye has dwelt on the luxuriance of tropical life, as though one were to compare a garb of homespun with trappings of velvet and embroidery. The islands of the bay present a ceaseless variety. Some are mere rocks, on which sea-birds of unknown aspect stood perched. Many of the larger are inhabited, and one, as I heard, has a population of thirteen hundred souls, and several charming villas showed it to be a favourite resort.
THE ORGAN MOUNTAINS.
In about an hour and a half from the city, the little steamer ran alongside of a wooden jetty at a spot on the northern side of the bay facing the bold range of the Organ Mountains, which extend for over twenty miles in an easterly direction. Between the northern shore and the foot of the mountains is a level swampy tract, evidently filled up by the detritus borne down by the numerous streams, and beyond this the mountain range rises very abruptly from the plain. Somewhat to my disappointment, I ascertained that Petropolis lies at a considerable distance from the higher part of the Organ range to which my attention had hitherto been directed. It is towards its eastern extremity that the Serra shows that remarkable series of granitic pinnacles of nearly equal height, appearing vertical from a distance, that suggested the likeness to the pipes of an organ whence these mountains obtained their name. The height of the loftier part has been estimated at 7500 feet above sea-level. I do not think that any of the summits near Petropolis can surpass the level of 5000 feet.
A short train with a small locomotive carried passengers for Petropolis across the low tract to the point where the ascent abruptly commences, a distance of nine or ten miles. The marshy plain is doubtless fever-stricken, and we passed very few houses on the way to the terminus, which is appropriately named Raiz da Serra. The construction of a railway on the slope leading thence to Petropolis, up which trains should be drawn by a wire rope, had been commenced, but at the time of my visit passengers were conveyed in carriages, each drawn by six or eight mules. A well-kept and well-engineered road – by far the best mountain road that I have seen in any part of America – leads to the pass or summit of the ridge that divides Petropolis from the Bay of Rio. The views during the ascent, especially in looking back over the bay, were entrancing, and new and strange forms of vegetation showed themselves at each turn of the road. From the summit, a gentle descent of a couple of miles leads to the main street of Petropolis.
The place lies about 2900 feet above the sea, in a basin or depression amidst forest-covered hills. The abundant rains of this region have carved the surface into a multitude of little dells and recesses, separated by hills and knolls of various size and height, leaving in their midst one comparatively broad space, where most of the buildings are grouped. The streamlets that issue from every nook in the mountains are finally united in two streams that flow in opposite directions, but both, I believe, ultimately find their way northward to the Parahyba. The streamlets have been turned to account by the inhabitants, for on each side of the main streets a rivulet of crystal water serves to maintain the vigour of a line of trees supplying the one need of the long summer – shelter from the vertical midday sun. In the present season (mid-winter) only one hotel was open; but in summer, when all who can do so escape from the oppressive heat of Rio, two or three others are generally crowded. It is at once apparent that Petropolis is a place for rest and enjoyment, not for business. The few shops and hotels are all in the main street, Rua do Imperador; the other streets, or roads, lie between ranges of detached villas, each with a garden, and here and there some more secluded habitation is withdrawn into some nook on the margin of the forest.
ATTRACTIONS OF PETROPOLIS.
The large majority of the trees and shrubs of this region have persistent leaves, but a few lose their foliage annually in winter, and a few others, I believe, during the heat of summer. The only prominent reminder of the fact that we were in winter was the appearance of the Bombax trees that line the main street, now completely bare of foliage. The tree commonly planted in this part of Brazil is, I believe, the Bombax pubescens of botanists. The fruit, with its copious silky appendage to the seeds, alone remained at this season; but when covered with a mass of large white flowers, it must have a gorgeous appearance.
I cannot feel sure that every naturalist will approve of the resolution, which I very soon formed, to remain as long as was possible at Petropolis. To reach the higher summits of the Organ Mountains would have required at least three or four days’ travel, and at this season I could expect to see very little of the vegetation of the higher zone. In the mean time, I found in the immediate neighbourhood, within a radius of four or five miles, an unexhausted variety of objects of interest, and the attractions of the place were doubtless heightened by the fortunate circumstances in which I found myself. It is certain that the ten days that I spent at this fascinating spot remain in my memory as the nearest approach to a visit to the terrestrial paradise that I can expect to realize. Besides the British minister, Mr. Corbett, I was fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of two English families, whose constant kindness and hospitality largely contributed to the enjoyment of my stay. To find in the midst of the marvels of tropical nature the charms of cultivated society, was a combination that I had not ventured to promise to myself.
Although I never went farther than five or six miles from my head-quarters, the variety of delightful walks in every direction seemed to be inexhaustible; go where one would, it seemed certain that one could not go wrong. I soon ascertained, indeed, that it is useless to attempt to penetrate the forests, except by following a road or cleared path. My first lesson was on the slope of a little hill some three hundred feet in height that overlooks the town. I was told that there was a path on the farther side, but, seeing the ground partly open, with trees of small stature not much crowded together, I resolved to follow the straight course. The ascent cost me over two hours of hard work, and I accomplished it only with the help of a sharp knife, by which to cut through the tangle of vegetation. In the midst of this I was surprised to find tall fronds of our common English bracken (Pteris aquilina), a fern that has been able to adapt its constitution to all but the most extreme climates of the world. The little hill that cost me so much labour had been completely cleared ten years before, so that all the trees and shrubs had grown up since that time.
THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE.
The first excursion recommended to every stranger at Petropolis is that to the Falls of Itamariti. I went there twice, varying somewhat my course – the first time with a horse, which I found quite unnecessary and rather an incumbrance; the second time alone. The falls are not very considerable. A stream so slender that it can be passed by stepping-stones falls over two ledges of granite rock, together about forty feet in height; but, framed in a mass of the most luxuriant tropical vegetation, the whole forms a lovely picture. For some reason which I did not learn, the forest on the slopes of the lower part of the glen below the falls had been felled just before my visit, and its beauty had vanished, but fortunately the arm of the destroyer was arrested before reaching the falls.
As happens to every stranger in a tropical forest, I was bewildered amidst the great variety of trees that struggle for supremacy, the one condition for victory being to get a full share of the glorious sunshine overhead. By vigorous tugging at one of the lianes that hung like a rope from a branch sixty feet above my head, I succeeded in breaking off a fragment, and identifying one of the larger trees as a species of fig, with large, oval, leathery leaves somewhat like those of a magnolia. It is needless to say that each tree is invaded by a host of enemies – parasites that fatten on its substance, comparatively harmless epiphytes that cling to the branches, and hosts of climbing lianes that mount to the topmost branches, robbing them of their share of sunlight, and hang down, often twined together, and in the deep shade are generally mere bare flexible stems. It was strange to observe that one of the deadliest enemies, a small parasite, fixing itself near the ground on the trunks of the larger trees, is a species of fig, belonging to the same genus as some of the giants of the forest, and doubtless tracing its descent from a common ancestor. It is in the tropical forest that one feels the force of Darwin’s phrase “struggle for existence,” as applied to the vegetable world. In our latitudes it is by an effort of the imagination that we realize the fact that in our fields and woodlands there is a contest going on between rival claimants for the necessary conditions of life. Here we see ourselves in the midst of a scene of savage warfare. The great climbers, like monstrous boas, that twine round and strangle the branch, remind one of the Laocoon; the obscure parasite that eats into the trunk of a mighty tree till a great cavity prepares its downfall, testifies to the destructive power of an insidious enemy.
THE HERMIT OF PETROPOLIS.
It is only in the more open spots that a botanist is able to make close acquaintance with the smaller trees and shrubs. Near to the stream I was able to hook down a branch and secure flowering specimens of a Begonia that grew to a height of over twenty feet. In such situations Melastomaceæ were everywhere abundant, but for variety of forms the ferns surpassed any of the families of flowering plants. I was surprised to find that the beautiful tree ferns, that add so much to the charm of the tropical flora, were rarely to be found with fructification, and the huge fronds being of quite unmanageable dimensions, I did not attempt to collect specimens. Of the smaller kinds, when I was able, with the kind assistance of Mr. Baker, of Kew, to name my specimens, I found that I had collected thirty-five species in the neighbourhood of Petropolis.
During my stay here I visited a German gentleman whose singular manner of life excites the interest and curiosity of the European residents. I am ignorant of the motives that have led Mr. Doer, evidently an educated and cultivated man, to lead the life of a hermit far from his native country. He has built for himself a small house in the forest, on one of the hills that enclose the basin of Petropolis, and lives quite alone, except for the daily visit of a boy who carries the provisions that satisfy his very moderate wants. He seems to be entirely occupied in studying the habits of the native animals of the country, and especially those of the Lepidopterous insects – butterflies and moths – that adorn this region. By attention to the habitual food of the various species, he has succeeded in keeping in his house the caterpillars that in due time produce the perfect insect, and has preserved in cabinets large collections of fine specimens.
At the suggestion of the friend who accompanied me, Mr. Doer was good enough to introduce me to the family of small monkeys which he has raised and domesticated. The senior members had been brought from some place in Northern Brazil, but they had multiplied, some of the offspring being born in his house, and now formed a rather numerous party. The creatures habitually passed the day in the forest, never, in Mr. Doer’s belief, wandering to a distance from the house, and at night came in and nestled among the rafters of the roof. The call was by a peculiar note, somewhat resembling a low whistle, repeated two or three times, and before a minute had elapsed the little creatures came swarming about the open window. They were decidedly pretty, their large black eyes giving an impression of intelligence, but I did not detect any indication of attachment to their master. I cannot say to what species they belonged. They had large ears like those of the marmoset, but differed in having a prehensile tail. One of them hung with his head downward, suspended by the tail from some projection above the window. After receiving some fragments of sweetmeat they soon departed, returning to their favourite haunts among the trees of the forest.
Starting early one morning, and reaching the crest of the range that divides Petropolis from the Bay of Rio Janeiro, I enjoyed in great perfection a spectacle that is commonly visible at this season when the weather is clear and settled. Before sunrise a stratum of mist extends over the bay and the low country surrounding it. As I saw it, this may have been about a thousand feet in thickness when the sun first reached it, and the fantastic summits of the mountains rose like islets from a sea of dazzling white. As the sun’s rays began to act, the mist appeared to melt away from above; the lower hills and the rocky islands of the bay emerged in succession, and finally the veil completely disappeared, and the whole wondrous view was completely disclosed.
A SEA OF MIST.
The beautiful effects displayed in the gradual disappearance of mist as seen from a height in early morning must be familiar to every genuine mountaineer, and may be enjoyed amongst the hills of the British Islands. Among my own recollections, a certain morning, when I stood alone at sunrise on the highest peak of the Pilatus, near Lucerne, showed the phenomenon in a most striking way, accompanied as it was by the coloured halo that surrounds the shadow of the observer thrown on the cloud-stratum below. But in my previous experience the disappearance of the mist was always accompanied by the upward movement of some portions of the mass. The surface appears to heave under the action of force acting from below, and some masses are generally carried up so as temporarily to envelope the observer. In the view over the Bay of Rio I was much farther away from the surface of the mist than in previous experiences of the kind, and I may have been misled by distance from the scene of action, but, though watching attentively, I saw no appearance of heaving of the surface or any break in its regular form. The waste seemed to proceed altogether from the upper surface, and the emergence of the prominent objects in regular succession gave direct evidence to that effect.
During the first five days of my visit the weather at Petropolis was perfectly enjoyable. The temperature varied from about 60° Fahr. at sunrise to about 70° in the afternoon; but the effect of radiation must have been intense, as in an exposed situation a minimum thermometer descended on one night to 46°, and on the next to 44°, and the dew was heavier than I have ever seen it elsewhere, so that in some places the quantity fallen from the leaves of the trees made the ground perfectly wet in the morning. The barometer varied very little, even after the weather changed, and stood as nearly as possible three inches lower than at Rio, showing a difference of level of about 2900 feet. On the 16th of July the sky became overcast, and some rain fell in the afternoon, the thermometer rising at two p.m. to 73° Fahr., and moderate rain fell on each succeeding day until the evening of the 19th, but scarcely any movement of the air was perceptible. There is a remarkable difference in the distribution of rainfall between the part of Brazil lying within about fifteen degrees of the equator and the region south of that limit. At Pernambuco (south lat. 8° 4′), out of an annual rainfall of about a hundred and ten inches, nearly ninety inches fall during the six months from March to August, and at Bahia, with less total rainfall, the proportion is nearly the same. But at Rio Janeiro the rainy season falls in summer, from November to March, and winter is the dry season. Of an annual rainfall of forty-eight and a half inches, only five and a half inches fall in the winter months, June, July, and August, and less than an inch and a half in July. No doubt the amount of rain is greater at a mountain station such as Petropolis, while the proportion falling in the different seasons must be about the same.
THE DEVELOPMENT OF INDOLENCE.
At Petropolis, as well as elsewhere in South America, I was struck by the fact that the children of European parents born in the country speedily acquire the indolent habits of the native population of Spanish or Portuguese origin. The direct influence of climate is doubtless one cause of the change of disposition, but I suspect that the chief share is due to the great difference in the conditions of life which are the indirect results of climate. Where mere existence is so enjoyable, where physical wants are so few and so easily supplied, the chief stimulus to exertion is wanting, and the natural distaste for labour prevails over the hope of gain. A boy will prefer to pick up a few pence by collecting flowers, or roots, or butterflies in the forest near his home, to earning ten times as much by walking to a distance, especially if expected to carry a light weight. On my first visit to Itamariti I took with me a German boy, whom I left in charge of the superfluous horse that I had been advised to take with me. Finding the occupation a bore, and probably fearing that he would have to carry back the portfolio and vasculum that I had taken for plant-collecting, he fastened the bridle to a tree and disappeared, never coming to claim the pay promised for his unaccomplished day’s work.
All delightful times come to an end, and, as I resolved to visit Tijuca before departing from Brazil, I quitted Petropolis on the morning of July 20, and made my return to Rio amid brilliant sunshine, in which the glorious scenery of the bay renewed its indelible impression on my memory. In passing over the tract of low land between Raiz da Serra and the shore, partly overgrown by shrubs or small trees ten or twelve feet in height, I found them covered with masses of large flowers of the most brilliant purple hue, where ten days before not a single flower had been visible. The train halted for half a minute at a solitary half-way house, and I was able to break off a branch from the nearest plant. It belonged, as I suspected, to the family of Melastomaceæ, and is known to botanists as Pleroma granulosum of Don; but one seeing dried specimens in a European herbarium, could form no conception of the gorgeous effect of the masses of rich colour that were here displayed, outshining the splendours of the Indian rhododendrons now familiar to European eyes. I again found the same species at Tijuca; but the soil and situation were, I suppose, less favourable, and the show of bloom was neither so rich nor so abundant.
I was told that the local name of this splendid plant is quaresma, because it flowers in Lent, which in Brazil falls in autumn; but I afterwards ascertained that the same name is given to several other species of Melastomaceæ having brilliant flowers, and it seems improbable that the same species which I found bursting into flower in mid-winter should have also flowered three or four months before. The only remains of fruit that I found were dry, empty capsules that had apparently survived the preceding summer.
THE EMPEROR DOM PEDRO.
Although I reached Rio some time before midday, so many matters required my attention that I found it impossible to return for a fuller visit to the Botanic Garden. Mr. Corbett had kindly offered to present me to the emperor, and, if time had permitted, I should have gladly taken the opportunity of making the personal acquaintance of a sovereign who stands alone among living rulers for the extent and variety of his scientific attainments, and for the active interest he has shown in the progress of natural knowledge. Irrespective of the qualities that appeal to the sympathies of men of science, Dom Pedro is evidently one of the remarkable men of our time. His exceptional energies, physical and mental, are incessantly devoted to every branch of public affairs, and it is said that he has even succeeded in inspiring some of his subjects with a share of his own zeal. But, so far as I could learn, he cannot be said to have achieved popularity. Among indolent and listless people, indefatigable industry produces an unpleasant effect. Improvements may or may not be desirable, but they are certain to give some trouble: it would be far pleasanter to let things remain as they are. Perhaps, whenever the time comes for Brazil to be deprived of the guidance of the present emperor, its people will become sensible of the loss they have sustained.
The steamer of the Royal Mail Company was to depart on July 24, so that no time was to be lost in making my visit to Tijuca. That place lies among the hills north-west of the city, about nine hundred feet above the sea, and the distance is quite inconsiderable; but the arrangements for visitors are inconvenient. A tramway runs over the flat country to the foot of the hill, and from the terminus the remainder of the way is accomplished by carriage or omnibus. But no luggage is taken by the tramway, and this has to be forwarded on the previous day. When I reached the station, about eleven a.m. on the 21st, I had an unpleasant quarter of an hour, during which it appeared that the case containing most of my Petropolis collections was lost or mislaid. At length it was found lying in an outhouse; no omnibus was available, but I soon succeeded in hiring a carriage to convey me to Tijuca.
The country between the city and the lower slopes of the hills is covered with the villas of wealthy natives, many of them large and handsome houses, each surrounded by a garden or pleasure-ground. In these grounds the mango, bread-fruit tree, and others, with large thick leaves giving dense shade, were invariably planted; and here and there palms, of which I thought I could distinguish four or five species, gave to the whole the aspect of completely tropical vegetation. Amidst the mass of trees, it was rarely possible to get a glimpse of the exquisite scenery surrounding Rio on every side, and it was only towards the top of the hill that I gained a view of the bay. Tijuca lies on the farther, or westward, slope, nearly surrounded by forest, and consists of only a few houses, of which the chief is White’s Hotel. As I afterwards learned, Mr. White, who is engaged in business in the city, was in the habit of hospitably entertaining his friends at a spot which naturally attracted frequent visits, and at length judiciously turned his house into an hotel, where a moderate number of guests find charming scenery, comparative coolness in the hot season, and far more of creature-comforts than are to be had in the hotels of Rio.
TREATMENT OF YELLOW FEVER.
Time allowed me no more than a short stroll in the immediate neighbourhood before the hour of dinner, at which I met several intelligent and well-informed gentlemen, and amongst them three English engineers, from whom I received much information as to the country which they have made their home.
Amongst other questions discussed was that, so important to Europeans, regarding the annual visitation of yellow fever and the best method of treatment. I was especially struck by the experiences of the youngest of the party, who had come out from England a few years before to superintend some considerable new works for the drainage of Rio. For two years he lived altogether in the city, constantly requiring to go below, and sometimes remaining for hours in the main sewers. During that time he was never attacked by the fever, and no fatal cases arose among the workmen engaged in the same work. Since its completion this gentleman had been engaged on other works of a more ordinary character, and had habitually slept in the country during the hot season; but, under conditions apparently more favourable, he had been twice stricken by the fever. The first attack, which was probably slight, was at once cut short by a large dose of castor oil and aconite administered by a friend. In the following year he experienced a more serious attack, and had been treated by a doctor of good repute, mainly with tartar emetic. It appears that professors of the healing art in Brazil regulate their charges, not by the amount of time or labour which they give, but by the estimated value of the patient’s life. If he survives, it is considered that the remuneration should be in the nature of salvage – a considerable percentage on the amount of his income. In the present case the young engineer had been required to pay a fee of £180. In some cases, where the doctor’s demand appeared utterly unreasonable, foreigners have attempted to appeal to the tribunals, but it appears that the results of litigation have not encouraged others to resort to the protection of the law.