Turning away, I soon encountered a woman with her infant lashed to her back. The little fellow reposed in the bunt of a shawl, the corners of which were fastened over the breast of his mother. He kept his eye on me, as I walked behind him, but with no signs of fear; he well knew that the love which carried him would protect him. His mother was still in youth, moved with an elastic step, and evinced her cheerfulness of heart in her animated face. How strikingly this group contrasts itself with that in the imperial carriage! Pomp was there, but heart here. Between a venal homage of soldiers and a mother’s love who could hesitate? The last will live and throb with undying strength, when the other is a breathless mockery.
Wednesday, Dec. 24. We visited to-day the Miseracordia, a noble monument of Brazilian humanity. Hundreds, who would otherwise have died unnoticed and unknown in the streets, have here experienced, in their last hours, those attentions which religion and benevolence bestow upon the destitute and helpless. A statue of the Emperor, in the finest Carrara marble, is being executed by an Italian artist, for this institution, at the private expense of a wealthy Brazilian.
Long may that statue stand on its pedestal, a true symbol of the humanity of him whom it represents. One king in an hospital has more true glory than a thousand on the field of carnage. It is a false view of the moral characteristics of our nature, to find more honor in killing a man than comforting him. It is doing homage to the thieves, who robbed the traveller and left him for dead, instead of the good Samaritan, who bound up his wounds and took him to an inn.
We passed on to the Aqueduct, which is brought over this section of the city upon a succession of lofty arches, which sweep high over the dwellings. This national work, constructed under the viceroyalty of Vasconcellas, is in imitation of the Alcantra aqueduct at Lisbon, and reflects lasting honor on its projector. It is supplied with water from artificial lakes in the Corcovada mountain. The summit of this mountain is covered with wild forest trees, which being cooler than the surrounding atmosphere, condense the vapor, which falls in showers into these lakes. To this beautiful law of nature Rio is indebted for that refreshing element without which she would be but little better than a desert.
In giving a community pure water to drink, you take from the tippler his standing apology for putting rum in it. You reduce him to that pain in the stomach from which he finds no relief except in the minted toddy. When among the temperate, this perpetual colic will sometimes twist him almost double. Poor fellow! to have such a pain, and no relief except in rum, and even this very much embarrassed by the refusal of others to drink it. What business has a man to stop drinking himself, if doing so makes it disreputable in others? He should be held responsible for bringing odium on that horn of poor human nature’s dilemma. Let whisky be as plenty as water, and it would be a beastly disgrace to get drunk on it. Can three cents turn vulgarity into gentility, shame into honor, and guilt into innocence?
“O would some power the giftie gie us,
To see oursels as others see us.”
Thursday, Dec. 25. Mr. Livingston, Dr. Mosely, Mr. Spieden, with myself, chartered this morning a carriage-and-four for the day. Our first drive was to the residence of the American minister, some three miles out of the city, and in the centre of a vast variety of rural charms. We found Mr. Wise listening to the grievances of two American sailors, who had been unceremoniously thrown ashore by their captains. His action was prompt and energetic, as it always is when there are rights to be vindicated, or wrongs to be redressed.
We spent a very agreeable and entertaining hour with him, and called for our carriage, when we discovered that our postillion had unharnessed his steeds and put them very quietly to the manger, thinking, no doubt, that as the fodder would cost him nothing, it was by no means best to let it pass. While he was harnessing up, a servant connected with the imperial palace came in for his Christmas token. He had called, it seemed, on the morning of the happy day, and wished the American minister a merry Christmas, and had now come for his fee. The same call, with the same salutation, had been made on all the foreign ministers, and all were expected to “shell out” very liberally on the occasion. Usage is law, and the result is very expensive merry wishes. I intend next year to wish the whole world a merry Christmas.
Seated once more in our carriage, we found our postillion whirling us back to the city, instead of taking the rode to the Botanic Garden, to which we were bound. We explained our wishes to him, thinking he labored under a misapprehension; but a shrug of his shoulders convinced us that he was acting from obstinacy. We then poured our remonstrances, reproaches, and threats upon him, in half a dozen different languages, creating quite a little Babel. Shaking his head like one whose purpose, but not will, is broken, he turned into the right road, and drove his horses, at the top of their speed, under a broiling sun, to Bota Foga, about half the distance to the Garden, but then brought up in front of a restaurant, declaring his horses could proceed no further.