Beats a truer heart than thine.”
“This song was making a furore in the reunions at Bahia when I came away,” he interrupted himself to say. It was the story of a young negress born on a plantation, who gave utterance in commonplace verses to her passion for a white planter. Bazilio imitated the sentimental accents of the young ladies of Bahia, and his voice had a comic ring when he sang the lachrymose ritornela:—
“And her gaze the dark-skinned maiden
Fixes on the distant sea,
While myriad birds the palm-tree’s shadow
Vocal make with melody.”
The counsellor thought this charming, and deplored, apropos of the song, the condition of the slaves. His Brazilian friends assured him, he said, that the negroes were very well treated. But after all, civilization is civilization. Slavery is a disgrace. He had a great deal of confidence in the emperor.
“He is a monarch of rare intelligence,” he ended, with an expression of profound respect.
He took his hat, declaring with a bow that it was long since he had spent so pleasant a morning. In his opinion there was nothing to compare to agreeable society and good music.
“Where are you staying, Senhor Brito?”