A Journey in Brazil

by Louis Agassiz; Elizabeth Cabot Cary Agassiz

June 4th.—When we were in Rio de Janeiro last year, Mr. Agassiz was so much occupied with the plans of the expedition that he was unable to visit the schools of the city, its charitable institutions, and the like. Being unwilling to leave Brazil without knowing something of the public works in its largest capital, we are now engaged in “sight-seeing.” This morning we visited the Misericordia Hospital. Perhaps it will give a better idea of this institution, and of the influences under which it at present exists, to speak of it first as it was formerly. Nearly forty years ago there was in Rio de Janeiro a hospital called “De la Misericordia.” Its wards were low, its entries were confined and close, its staircases steep and narrow. According to the accounts of physicians who were medical students there in those days, its internal organization was as sordid as its general aspect. The floors were wet and dirty, the beds wretched, the linen soiled; and the absence of a system of ventilation made itself the more felt on account of the want of general cleanliness. The corpses awaited burial in a room where the rats held high festival; and a physician, who has since occupied a distinguished position in Rio de Janeiro, told us that when, as a student, he went to seek there the materials for his anatomical studies, he often found life stirring in this chamber of the dead, and startled away these unseemly visitors. Such, in brief, was the Misericordia Hospital at the time when Brazil secured her independence. Let us see what it is now. On the same spot, though occupying a much larger space, stands the present hospital. When completed, it will consist of three parallel buildings, long in proportion to their breadth, connected by cross corridors enclosing courts between them. The central edifice, intended for male patients, has been long in use. The front building, looking on the bay, is nearly completed, and is to be devoted to the stores, to accommodations for hospital physicians, nurses, &c. The rear building, not yet begun, will be for the use of women and children, who now occupy the old hospital. Let us look first at the central division. We enter a spacious hall tiled with marble. A smaller hall, leading out of it, connects with one or two reception-rooms, where visitors are received, and medicines given out gratis to poor applicants. A broad staircase of dark wood brings us to the wide corridors, on which the wards open, and which look out upon green gardens enclosed between the buildings, where convalescents may be seen strolling about, or resting in the shade. At the first ward we are received by a Sister of Charity, who, in the absence of the Superior, is to show us the establishment. A description of one ward will answer for all, since they are identical. It is a long, lofty room, the beds in rows on either side, facing outward, and having a broad, open space down the centre. The beds are arranged two and two in pairs, each pair being divided by a door or window. Between every two beds is a little niche in the wall, with a shelf to draw out underneath. In the niche are one or two pitchers or goblets holding the patient’s drink; on the shelf is his mug, ready to his hand. To a height of some six or eight feet the wall is wainscoted with blue-and-white porcelain tiles. They are easily washed, do not contract dampness, and look very cool and fresh. The floor is made of the dark Brazilian wood, partly inlaid, and waxed carefully; not a stain is to be seen anywhere on its shining surface. The bedding consists of a well-stuffed straw-mattress below, with a thick hair-mattress above. The sheets and pillow-cases are spotless. Indeed, everything in this fresh, well-aired, spacious room bespeaks an exquisite order and neatness. The bath-rooms are in convenient relation to the wards, furnished with large marble bath-tubs, and with hot and cold water in abundance. From the public wards we pass into large corridors, upon which open private apartments for the use of persons who, not having convenient arrangements at home, or being strangers in the city, prefer, in case of illness, to go to the hospital. The rent of these chambers is exceedingly moderate;—for a room to one’s self, $1.50 a day; for a room shared with one other person, $1 a day; for a bed in a larger room occupied by half a dozen, but withdrawn from the general throng, 75 cents. These charges include medical attendance, nursing, and food. From the wards devoted to ordinary diseases, fevers and the like, we went to the surgical wards. It need not be said that here the same neatness and care prevailed; the operating rooms, the surgery lined with cases containing instruments, lint, bandages, &c. were all in faultless order.

From this building—looking, as we went, into the kitchen, where the contents of the great shiny copper kettles smelt very invitingly—we passed through a paved court to the old hospital, in which are the wards for women and children. This gave us an opportunity of comparing, at least in its general arrangement, the ancient establishment with the modern one. The neatness and order prevailing throughout make even this part of the hospital attractive and cheerful; but one feels at once the difference between the high, airy rooms and open corridors of the new building and the more confined quarters of the old one. In both parts of the hospital the mingling of color impresses the stranger. Blacks and whites lie side by side, and the proportion of negroes is considerable, both among the men and women.

The charity of the Misericordia is a very comprehensive one; it includes not only maladies susceptible of cure, but has also its ward for old and infirm persons, who will never leave it except for their last home. The day before our visit a very aged woman had been buried thence, who had lived under this roof for seventeen years. There is also a provision for children whose parents die in the hospital, and who have no natural protector. They remain there, receive an elementary education, being taught to read, write, and cipher; and are not turned into the world until they are of age to marry or to enter into service. There is a chapel connected with the hospital, and many of the wards are furnished with an altar at one end, above which is placed a statue of the Virgin, a crucifix, or a picture of some saint. I could not help asking myself if regular religious services would not be a wise addition to all charitable institutions of this kind, whether Protestant or Catholic. To the respectable poor, their church is a great deal. Many a convalescent would be glad to hear the Sunday hymn, to join in the prayer put up for his recovery; and would think himself the better, body and soul, because he had listened to a sermon. To be sure, in our country, where creeds are so various, and almost every patient might have his own doctrinal speciality, there might be some difficulties which do not exist where there is a state religion, and one form of service is sure to suit all. Still, many would be comforted and consoled, and would come without asking whether the clergyman were of this or that denomination, if they felt him to be genuine and truly devout.

I have presented the old hospital and the present one in direct contrast, because the comparison gives a measure of the progress which, in some directions at least, has taken place during the last thirty or forty years in Rio de Janeiro. It is true, that all their institutions have not advanced in proportion to their benevolent establishments; charity, like hospitality, may be said to be a national virtue among the Brazilians. They hold almsgiving a religious duty, and are more liberal to their churches and to the public charities connected with them than to their institutions of learning. Unhappily, a great deal of their liberality of this kind is expended upon church festas, street processions, saint days, and the like, more calculated to feed superstition than to stimulate pure religious sentiment.

We should not leave the Misericordia without some allusion to the man to whom it chiefly owes its present character. José Clemente Pereira would have been gratefully remembered by the Brazilians as a statesman of distinguished merit, who was intimately associated with more than one of the most important events in their history, even had he no other claim on their esteem. He was born in Portugal, and distinguished himself as a young man in the Peninsular war. Though he was already twenty-eight years of age when he left Europe, he seems to have been as true a lover of Brazil as if born on her soil. His merit was soon recognized in his adopted country, and he occupied, at different times, some of the highest offices of the realm. The early part of his political career fell upon the stormy times when Brazil was struggling for her national existence as an independent Empire; but during the more tranquil close of his life he seems to have been chiefly occupied in works of benevolence, in founding charitable institutions, and even in personal attendance upon the sick and suffering.

The name of this benevolent Brazilian is associated not only with the Misericordia hospital, but also with the admirable asylum for the insane at Botafogo, which bears the name of the present Emperor. A great part of the funds for this establishment were obtained in an original way, which shows that Pereira knew how to turn the weaknesses of his countrymen to good account. The Brazilians are addicted to titles, and the government offered distinctions of this kind to wealthy citizens who would endow the insane asylum. They were to be either commendadores or barons, the importance of the title being in proportion to the magnitude of their donations. Large sums were actually obtained in this way, and several of the titled men of Rio thus purchased their patents of nobility. When I first arrived in Rio de Janeiro, mere chance led me to visit this asylum. Entering as a stranger, I saw only the outer rooms, listened to the evening service in the chapel for a few moments, and was struck with the order and quiet which seemed to prevail. It certainly never would have occurred to me that I was in an insane hospital. To-day Mr. Agassiz and myself, accompanied by our friend Dr. Pacheco da Silva, passed several hours there, and saw the whole establishment in detail. The building faces upon Botafogo Bay, having the beach immediately before it; on its right the picturesque gap, one side of which is made by the Paō de Assucar, and on its left the beautiful valley running up toward Corcovado. Thus, looking on the sea and surrounded by mountains, it commands exquisite views on every side. The plan of the building, in its general arrangement, is not unlike that of the Misericordia. It is a handsome solid stone structure, rather long in proportion to its height, and consists of two parallel buildings, connected by cross corridors. These corridors enclose courts, planted with trees and flowers, and making very pleasant gardens. The entrance hall is in the centre, and has on either side the statues of Pinel and Esquirol, the two French masters in the treatment of mental diseases. The statues have no merit as works of art; but it was pleasant to see them there, as showing a recognition of what these men have done for science and for humanity. A broad, low staircase of dark wood leads up to the chapel. Here we looked with interest at the ornaments on the altar, because they are the work of the patients, who take great pleasure in making artificial flowers and other decorations for the church. On the same floor with the chapel is a large hall, where stands the statue of the youthful Emperor Dom Pedro Segundo. Opposite to it is that of Pereira. It is worthy of note that this statue was presented by the Emperor, and at his request placed opposite his own. The face, quite in keeping with the history of the man, is expressive both of great benevolence and remarkable decision. Connected with this hall are several reception-halls, parlors, and antechambers; indeed, too much room is assigned to mere state apartments in an establishment where space must be precious. One of this suite of rooms was devoted to the various fancy-work made by the patients,—embroidery of all sorts, artificial flowers and the like. Thence we passed to the wards. As in the Misericordia, the rooms are very large and high, wainscoted with tiles, and opening upon wide corridors, which look out into the enclosed gardens. Some of the dormitories have fifteen or twenty beds, but many of the sleeping-rooms are smaller, it being better, no doubt, to separate the patients at night. We saw but little indication of suffering or distress among them. There were one or two cases of religious melancholy, with the look of fixed, absorbed sadness characteristic of that form of insanity. We were met once or twice by the vacant stare, and heard the senseless chatter and laugh always to be found in these saddest of all asylums for human suffering. But, on the whole, an air of cheerfulness prevailed; with few exceptions all the patients were occupied, the women with plain sewing or embroidery, the men with carpentering, shoemaking, or tailoring, making cigars for the use of the establishment, or picking over old cordage. The Superior told us that occupation was found to be the most efficient remedy, and that though work was not compulsory, with few exceptions all the patients preferred to share in it. The whole service of the house—washing, sweeping, waxing the floors, cleaning the chambers and putting them in order—is performed by them. Sunday is found to be the most difficult day, because much of the ordinary occupation is suspended, and the patients become unruly in proportion as they are unemployed. From these apartments, where all were busy and comparatively quiet, we passed to a corridor enclosing a large court, where some of the lunatics, too restless for employment, were walking about, gesticulating and talking loudly. The corridor was lined on its inner side with chambers devoted to the use of those whose violence made it necessary to confine them. The doors and windows were grated, the rooms empty of furniture, but well lighted, spacious, and airy; not at all like cells, except in being so strongly secured. They were mostly without occupants; but as we passed one of them a man rushed to the door, and called out to us that he was not a prisoner because he was mad, but that he had killed Lopez, and was now the rightful Emperor of Brazil. This corridor led us to the bath-rooms, which are really on a magnificent scale. A number of immense marble tubs are sunk in the tiled floors. They are of different depths, adapted for standing, sitting, or lying down, and have every variety of arrangement for douche, shower, or sponge baths.

This hospital, like the Misericordia, is under the care of the Sisters of Charity, and is a model of neatness and order. The Superior has a face remarkable for its serenity, expressive at once of sweetness and good sense. From her we learned some interesting facts respecting insanity in this country. She says furious maniacs are rare, and that violence generally yields readily to treatment. She also told us that insanity is more common among the poor than among the better classes. Though the asylum contains apartments for private patients, there are seldom more than eight or ten persons of this description to occupy them. This is not because they have any choice of establishments, for there is no other insane hospital in Rio de Janeiro, though there are one or two “Maisons de Santé” where insane persons are received. There were more blacks among the patients than we had expected to see, the general impression being that insanity is rare among the negroes. We left this hospital impressed by its superiority. A country which has so high a standard of excellence in its charities can hardly fail, sooner or later, to bring its institutions of learning and its public works generally up to the same level. Excellence in one department leads to excellence in all.

From the hospital we continued our walk to the military school, some quarter of a mile farther. It stands in the gap between the Paō de Assucar and the opposite range of hills, and has the Botafogo Bay on one side, the Praia Vermelha on the other. Here, as elsewhere in the public schools of Rio de Janeiro, there is a progressive movement; but old and theoretical methods still prevail to a great degree. The maps are poor; there are no bas-reliefs, no large globes, few dissections or chemical analyses, no philosophical experiments, and no library deserving the name. The school, however, has been in efficient operation only six years, and improvements in the building, as well as in the apparatus for instruction, are made daily. So far as its domestic economy is concerned, the appointments of the establishment are excellent; indeed, one is rather inclined to criticise it as over-luxurious for boys educated to be soldiers. The school-rooms and dormitories, as well as the dining-room, where the tables were laid with a nice service of crockery and glass, and also the kitchens, were clean and orderly. We cannot but wonder that the streets of Rio de Janeiro should be dirtier and more offensive than those of any other city we have visited, when we see the scrupulous neatness characteristic of all its public establishments. The observance of cleanliness in this respect shows that the Brazilians recognize its importance, and it seems strange that they should tolerate nuisances in their streets which make it almost impossible to pass through many of them on foot.

June 7th.—Yesterday we visited the Mint, the Academy of Fine Arts, and a primary school for girls. Of the Mint it is scarcely fair to judge in its present condition; a new building is nearly completed, and all improvements in machinery are wisely deferred until the establishment is removed. When this change takes place, much that is antiquated will be improved, and its many deficiencies supplied.

There is little knowledge of, or interest in, art in Brazil. Pictures are as rare as books in a Brazilian house; and though Rio de Janeiro has an Academy of Fine Arts, including a school of design and sculpture, it is still in too elementary a condition to warrant criticism. The only interesting picture in the collection derives its attraction wholly from the circumstances connected with it, not at all from any merit in the execution. It is a likeness of a negro who, in a shipwreck off the coast, saved a number of lives at the risk of his own. When he had brought several passengers to the shore, he was told that two children remained in the ship. He swam back once more and brought them safely to the beach, but sank down himself exhausted, and was seized with hemorrhage. A considerable sum was raised for him in the city of Rio, and his picture was placed in the Academy to commemorate his heroism.