That exclamation, and wise words that follow, came from the assistant of one of the largest firms of cinematograph appliances in Paris, where I had called in order to purchase a moving picture apparatus and 10,000 metres of film to be used on my forthcoming journey across the South American continent.
The shop assistant had very honestly warned me that if the films were to be used in a damp, tropical climate, they must be exposed and developed within three months of their manufacture. After that time they would become so perforated and fogged as to be quite useless. I had remarked that it would take me more than three months to reach the spot where I should begin to take cinematograph pictures.
"Will Monsieur please tell where is the spot where he would be likely to use the films?" continued the assistant, still overcome with surprise.
"In the heart of Brazil ... in the very heart of Brazil?... Oh, mon Dieu! mon Dieu!" (More laughter and a look of compassion at me.) "Mais nous avons une de nos maisons tout à fait près de là!" (Why, indeed, we have one of our factories quite close to there.)
It was then my turn for hearty laughter and the look of compassion.
"Pray," I inquired, "tell me more exactly. Where is your factory close to the heart of Brazil?"
"It is quite, quite close. It is in Montreal, Canada.... You will send your films there ... two or three days' journey.... It will take us a week to develop them ... two or three days for their return journey. In a fortnight you will have them back again."
Quite close, indeed: only a distance of some 65° of latitude—or some 7170 kilometres as the crow flies—with no direct communication by land or water!
That was the Frenchman's knowledge of geography; but I find that the average Englishman, unless he is directly interested in those countries, knows little better, and perhaps even less. Time after time I have been asked in London if Brazil were not a province of Mexico, and whether it is not through Brazil that the Americans are cutting the Panama Canal! There are many who have a vague idea that Brazil is a German colony; others, more patriotic, who claim it as an English possession. Many of those who have looked at the map of the world are under the impression that Spanish is spoken in Brazil, and are surprised when you tell them that Portuguese happens to be the local language. Others, more enlightened in their geography by that great play Charley's Aunt, imagine it a great forest of nut trees. Others, more enlightened still, believe it to be a land where you are constantly walking in avenues adorned with wonderful orchids, with a sky overhead swarming with birds of beautiful plumage. I have been asked in all seriousness whether I found the Andes quite flat—great prairies (the person had heard of the Argentine pampas and got mixed up)—or whether "it" was merely a large lagoon!
