It is to European ears, however, that taught combination music has the charm; the monotony of the negro chanting, and its never-ending repetition, convey no idea of the ‘melody of sweet sounds,’ and the dances that are exhibited to these tunes are anything but edifying.
The manner of catching fish here is curious. At low water four or five large canoes will start; two of them divide the net, which is of great length, and has the lower edge loaded with lead, and the upper lightened with cork. On arriving at a given spot, they separate, and dropping the net with all speed, form as wide a circle as possible, and thus enclose the fish in a pen. The canoes are then ranged around the outside of the net, at some distance from each other, and a hand-net, the length of the canoe, is held by two blacks. This net is about six feet in height, and supported by two poles. The other men then beat the water and the sides of the canoes with paddles, making as much noise as they can, which frightens the fish, which, trying to escape, and finding themselves effectually prevented by the net, leap out of the water, and are caught by the hand-net, and fall into the boat. In a few minutes a large catch is made, though numbers of course escape. It is a curious sight to see them flying, as it were, in all directions, out of the enclosure.
The roasted grains of milho (Indian corn) form a dish of which the blacks, are very fond; it is called pipokas, and is thus prepared:—an earthen pot is partly filled with white sand, and placed over a small open stove until it becomes thoroughly heated, when the grains of new milho are stripped off the bunch, thrown in, and stirred amongst the sand with a long stick. The grains soon swell, and burst the skin, and the corn becomes white and light. These grains are eaten with pieces of cocoa nut. ‘Vai plantas pipokas,’ (go plant roasted milho,) is a phrase, rather more expressive than polite, used in bidding a person go and mind his own business.
It is a curious circumstance that the minds of the blacks should, for so many ages, have remained in a stationary condition; and although political and local circumstances may have greatly operated to retard their mental development, yet it seems much more probable that this state of darkness proceeds more from physical causes. Their stupidity, or rather want of intellectuality, is a most unaccountable fact, and one of those mysterious dispensations of Providence that man tries in vain to unravel. Individual, but almost solitary, instances occur of a contrary nature; and although cultivation of the intellect may thus have developed the black’s faculties, it only serves to show more clearly the wild and blank from which he has been separated.
A very singular, in fact almost a barbaric, custom exists here on gala days, such as the birth-day of the Emperor or Empress. The President issues invitations to a ‘Cortejo’ at the Palace, a large building in the upper town. The portion occupied by the President is older than the rest, which is new, and contains the Treasury, and other public offices. The attendance on one of these gala days consists of all the authorities, and many of the principal inhabitants of the city. The ceremony usually commences with a ‘Te Deum’ in the cathedral. The foreign consuls appear in their uniforms, a motley habited, but showy, group: the officers of the army and navy, with the President, all in full regimentals; the archbishop in his robes, and the priests in the habits of their respective orders; the judges in their robes of office, the corporation in their quaint dresses, and a crowd of civilians, all habited in black, and many of them decorated with ribbons and stars. The entry is up a dilapidated stair-case, on the top landing of which a military band is stationed playing national airs. Two large and scantily furnished rooms are entered, and a short time is spent in conversation, until the preparations for the Cortejo are complete. Then the President’s aid-de-camp pushes aside the heavy door curtain, and invites the company to enter. The assemblage enters a long room, papered with green and gold, and lighted by a line of windows overlooking the sea, curtained with green and gold damask, looped with bullion. At the further end of the room, under a velvet canopy, with a kind of dais in front, are portraits of the Emperor and the Empress, which constitute the sole furniture of the room. On one side of the portraits stand the President and the Archbishop, and on the other the General-at-arms, Commander of the National Guard, and other principal authorities. The procession advances down the centre of the room, in Indian file, the consuls going first, and according to precedence; and when within a few yards of the dais, each person makes a profound bow to the portraits, and then to the authorities. Foreigners generally omit the first obeisance, as being too savage, but those who come after most ceremoniously perform the rite. After bowing, each person takes his leave by passing out by a side door, and the Cortejo is over. When all have bowed their way out, the President invites the consuls he is friendly with to view the troops defile before him, as he stands at one of the front windows of the Palace. The military march past to martial music, and then we take our leave.
Caugica is a species of food of a peculiarly national character, and is made in various ways. One is simply taking the skin off the Indian corn, and boiling it in milk or water; this is eaten cold. Another method is to grind the corn, mix the meal with sugar and spices, and boil it with milk, when it makes a very agreeable food.
The butterflies of this country are most gorgeous; agile and graceful, they flutter in the sunlight, their magnificent robes glistening like scales of gold. These sylph-like inhabitants of the air, issuing from the dark cradle in which they exist as chrysalises, seem to rejoice in their new life, hovering from flower to flower, sipping the choicest nectar, and revelling in perpetual enjoyment, and the continued pursuit of novelty and pleasure.
The Solidade Convent is the great locale where they make those beautiful feather flowers without dye, which are so much esteemed in Europe. On my first visit to this place, all the romance of nuns and nunneries was revived in my mind. The lady abbess, or superior, or whatever else she may be, was a stately woman: but the nun who acted as saleswoman was most beautiful—a Carlo Dolci countenance, pale, but with glorious eyes; and far more flowers were bought from her than would have been from any other. Visitors are ushered into a small room, whither the flowers are conveyed in large baskets through a double grating, and the attendants of the different nuns are there to look after their own. None of our party were very proficient in Portuguese, and we had great fun in the purchases, though we probably paid double what we ought to have done. On our departure, the lovely nun came to the door, and as we passed out, courteously bade us ‘adios,’ and requested us, if we came again, to ask for Maria.
A beautiful species of duck is found at Maronia, to the north of this place, of the manner of catching which a description has been given me. The lakes which they frequent are very much choked with vegetable matter, and near their haunts a large gourd is floated, having two small holes bored through the side. After a few days, when the ducks have become accustomed to the presence of the gourd, a man wades into the water with it on his head, and catching a duck by its legs, breaks its neck, and fastens it to his girdle. In this manner, several are quietly killed, and the fowler wades ashore with a well-filled pouch.