But, interesting as are all these places, their attractions are fairly dimmed by Rio’s, and especially by her gorgeous bay. From the Guianas to its southernmost boundaries, in fact, Brazil is one grand series of prismatic forests, majestic rivers and cascades, immense rolling plains and mountains—a panorama that is matchless anywhere in the world—but, if I were asked to point out some one feature that was preëminent among them all, I should not hesitate to select that bay. The bay of Naples, the Golden Horn of Constantinople, all those wonderful aspects by the mention of which writers have sought to impress those who have not seen the Rio bay with its grandeur and beauty, can but suffer by the comparison. “Extravagant language must be used in writing of it,” says Burton Holmes, “for there all is extravagance—extravagance of color, extravagance of form.” It is so incomparably sublime, says the Rev. James C. Fletcher, the author of one of the most noted of the descriptions—though no pen or brush could possibly do it justice—that “the first entrance must mark an era in the life of any one. I have seen the rude and ignorant Russian sailor, the immoral and unreflecting Australian adventurer, as well as the refined and cultivated European gentleman, stand silent on the deck, lost in admiration of the gigantic avenue of mountains and palm-covered isles, which, like the granite pillars of the Temple of Luxor, form a fitting colonnade to the portal of the finest bay in the world.”
Entering the outer bay, we see to the left the huge, fantastic figure of Gavia looming up from the shore, rock-capped and bald, and, a little beyond, the more symmetrical crests of the Three Brothers. Just distinguishable, off behind where the city lies, the summit of Corcovado (the Hunchback) appears. On the right are mound-shaped islands called the Father and Mother, that protrude from the water like tops of mountains partially submerged, and, off in the distance, the pinnacles of the Organ group mount higher than all. In the center, on a point jutting out from the mainland, is an isolated peak fifteen hundred feet high, called the Sugar Loaf, that stands like a sentinel guarding the narrow entrance to the harbor. As we draw nearer, the coloring of the mountain sides and shores, only a confusion of vague tints before, grows more and more vivid as the foliage begins to take form, and we see that on the hills above the rocks at the extremities of the peninsulas that extend from either side to form the gateway, are white-walled forts. These are known as São João and Santa Cruz, and, passing through, we are confronted by still another called Lage, midway between but a little beyond. It is steel-clad like a man of war, this one, and frowns down from an island of big rocks, dominating the passage. Once by this, we are in the harbor itself.
Copyright, 1911, by W. D. Boyce.
BOTAFOGO BAY, HARBOR OF RIO DE JANEIRO.
Photograph used by courtesy of Mr. W. D. Boyce and the Pan American Union.
Just within are shapely arms of the bay, Botafogo on the Rio side and Jurujuba on the other, that sweep around in wide, graceful curves to two other and much larger peninsulas opposite, like those of São João and Santa Cruz; and on one of them, the one to the left, is the old or commercial district of the national capital, on the other the pretty little city of Nictheroy, the capital of the State of Rio de Janeiro—for the city of Rio is the national capital and located in a separate federal district, like our city of Washington. Above these larger peninsulas the water broadens to a vast expanse, a sort of inland sea. Inclosing it like a wall, and on beyond as far as the eye can reach, stretch the serried peaks of the Coast Range.
Everywhere, bathed in the intense golden sunlight, are the same gradations of green, the same riot of brilliantly colored flowers, that we saw on the Amazon—only here the water is not muddy but deep blue, and the beaches are lined with almost snow-white sand. Then, as we steam slowly across to the anchorage, which lies over between the Villegagnon and Cobra islands near the quay, we have the first view of the city, dense in the center where it covers the peninsula, and stretching along the shore and here and there back between the foothills, for miles and miles to the north and south. The roofs of the houses are tiled in reds and browns; the walls are cream or rose-tinted or else dazzling white. “It looks like a fragment of fairy-land,” as Curtis expresses it—“a cluster of alabaster castles decorated with vines.”
Perhaps I ought to give warning that some of the writers on Brazil, after going into raptures over the scene in the bay, express themselves very differently respecting the experience on entering the city. That same Mr. Curtis, for instance, goes on to say that “the streets are narrow, damp, dirty, reeking with repulsive odors and filled with vermin-covered beggars and wolfish-looking dogs.” But he was writing of experiences encountered many years ago, before the reforms and improvements were undertaken, which, when completed, will have cost some sixty millions of dollars. It is still true, no doubt, that in the commercial district several of the ugly old sections remain, where there are narrow, tortuous streets and dingy warehouses, ship-chandleries, saloons and stores that cater to the stevedore class of trade, such as there are in all great shipping centers as old and as busy as Rio, and of course there are the districts in which the lowest classes foregather. But since he and Dr. Fletcher wrote their books, the old passenger landing place called the Pharoux quay has been transformed into a handsome square; adorned with gardens and a big bronze fountain; hills have been leveled to permit extensions and relieve the congestion; literally thousands of marshy, mosquito-breeding places have been filled in and reclaimed; a fine drainage canal has been constructed, an adequate sewerage system installed, and a system of masonry docks is nearing completion that will rival the celebrated docks of Santos and Buenos Aires; some of the streets have been broadened and more have been repaved, and the sanitary conditions and healthfulness generally have been so improved that yellow fever is a thing of the past.
Besides all this, many magnificent new government buildings have been erected, notably the Congressional Palace on Tiradentes Square. The estimated cost of this building alone was $15,000,000 and it is proudly claimed to be one of the finest in South America; also the Palace of the Supreme Court, of rose-tinted stone and marble, with bronze ornamentations, and the Post Office and Mint, National Printing Office and National Library, all of great architectural beauty, and the City Hall and Municipal Theater. This last is an ornate, high-domed marble and stone structure of Moorish design that cost $5,000,000 to build. And, to facilitate traffic, a superb hundred-and-fifty-foot wide avenue, the Avenida Central, has been constructed clear across the business section of the city for a mile or more, opening a vista from bay to bay. To do this more than six hundred houses had to be purchased and torn down; they have been replaced by others of a pleasing general uniformity and elegance of appearance, of which any city in Europe or America might well be proud. The Jornal do Commercio building, for example, looks more like one of our fashionable metropolitan hotels or apartment houses, than a business establishment. The sidewalks are paved with mosaics and kept perfectly clean.