I had longed for. I used to start every morning on my mule, with Roberto on another, for some choice spot in the forest, where I gave him my butterfly net (which he soon learned to use very deftly and judiciously), while I sat down and worked with my brush for some hours, first in one spot and then in another, returning in time for a good wash before dinner.
Washing and dressing were very necessary, as the abundant vegetation here was covered with garapatas, the most intolerable of insect plagues, and at this season in their infantine and most venomous stage. One blade of grass might shake a whole nest onto the passing victim, no bigger than a pinch of snuff, and easily shaken off then; but if left, the hundreds of tiny grains would diverge in every direction till they found places they fancied screwing their proboscis into, when they would suck and suck till they became as big as peas and dropped off from over repletion. Of course none but idiots would allow them to do this; but the very first attempts of these torturing atoms poisoned one’s blood and irritated it for weeks after. When the insect grew older and bigger it was less objectionable, as it then could be easily seen and removed before it did any injury; it attacked one then singly, not in armies. But even this plague was worth bearing for the sake of the many wonders and enjoyments of the life I was leading in that quiet forest nook.
I used generally to roam out before breakfast for an hour or two, when the ground was soaked with heavy dew and the butterflies were still asleep beneath the sheltering leaves. The birds got up earlier, and the alma-de-gato (Piaya cayana; squirrel cuckoo) used to follow me from bush to bush, apparently desirous of knowing what I was after, and as curious about my affairs as I was about his. He was a large brown bird like a cuckoo, with white tips to his long tail, and was said to see better by night than by day, when he becomes stupidly tame and sociable, and might even be caught with the hand.
One morning I stopped to look at a black mass on the top of a stalk of brush grass, and was very near touching it when I discovered it to be a swarm of black wasps. When I moved a little way off I found through my glass they were all in motion and most busy. When I returned again close they became again immovable, like a bit of black coal, and I tried this several times with always the same effect; but foolishly wishing to prove they really were wasps got my finger well stung. This little insect drama was in itself worth some little discomfort to see. The brush grass on which these wasps had settled was itself curious, each flower forming a perfect brush—a bunch of them made the broom of everyday use in the country; scrubbing brushes were generally formed out of half the outer shell of a cocoanut.
One had always been told that flowers were rare in this forest scenery, but I found a great many, and some of them most contradictory ones. There was a coarse marigold-looking bloom with the sweetest scent of vanilla, and a large purple-bell bignonia creeper with the strongest smell of garlic. A lovely velvet-leaved ipomoea, with large white blossom and dark eye, and a perfectly exquisite rose-coloured bignonia bush were very common. Large-leaved dracaenas were also in flower, mingled with feathery fern trees. There were banks of solid greenery formed by creeping bamboos as smooth as if they had been shaved, with thunbergias and convolvulus and abutilon spangling them with colour. Over all the grand wreaths of taquara bamboo, and festoons of lianes, with orchids and bromeliads, lichens and lycopodiums or clubmoss on every branch.
I had one grand scramble in a neighbouring forest with Mr. W., and brought home a great treasure—a black frog. His face and all the underparts, including the palms of his hands and feet were flesh colour; he had black horns over his garnet-coloured eyes, which he seemed to prick up like a dog when excited, and which gave much intelligence to his countenance. I kept this pet for three months, and then trusted him to a friend to take to the Zoological Gardens in London; but alas! he died after three days of sea air. If he had been corked up with some moss in an air-tight bottle he would probably have lived. In the same woods we found several specimens of the exquisite little butterfly, the Zenobia batesii, which appeared to come out twice a year here. The large semi-transparent green dido (Philaethria dido) was also abundant, but very shy and clever at eluding my net. A messenger at last recalled us to Morro Velho. Visitors had arrived, and Mrs. Gordon wanted us to help in entertaining them; so we obeyed at once, stopping by the way to breakfast with the Baron’s family, to his great delight.
My last night on this journey was an unquiet one, in another solitary house near the new railway works. It was Sunday, and half-drunken navvies came and thumped at the door all night. My room opened on the verandah and got its share of thumps too, but I knew if the Baron or Roberto wanted anything they would begin, “O Dona Pop!,” and not hearing that, I hugged the cold blankets and kept still till called as usual at four, for I knew there was a wooden bar across the door that would resist any quantity of thumping. But the mules had got into sweet pasture and would not be found, and the thick cloud made it no easy task to hunt for them. Four hours it took, when the poor men came in soaked and shivering, and the Baron stormed and grumbled: there had been such a row he had not slept a wink; it was too cold even to take off his boots, and the coffee was burned, etc.; so he grumbled himself into high good humour long before we entered the trim German suburb of Juiz de Fora. The next morning, after squeezing the good old Baron’s hand for the last time with real regret, I packed myself into the crowded coach and was whirled away towards Rio.
The distant Organ Mountains peeped at us over the ends of the green valleys, and I again thought nothing in the world could be lovelier than that marvellous road; and then what a welcome the kind M.’s gave me, and what a cosy little room in their house at Petropolis! It was rather pleasant too to see my old box again and its contents. Of what priceless value those shoes and stockings and paints seemed to me! And how I longed for them! I had intended starting for Pará in a week, but was persuaded to give it up, as the yellow fever was still lingering all along the coast; and I had a longing first for rest in my pleasant, comfortable quarters, and then still more for a sight of home, friends, and books again.
Meanwhile I made two visits to Rio, the chief object of which was to see the Emperor, to whom I had a letter from my father’s old friend Sir Edward Sabine. The Emperor is a man who would be worth some trouble to know, even if he were the poorest of private gentlemen; he is eminently a gentleman, and full of information and general knowledge on all subjects. He lives more the life of a student than that to which ordinary princes condemn themselves. He gives no public entertainment, but on certain days he and the Empress will receive the poorest of their subjects, who like to take their complaints to them. He kindly gave me a special appointment in the morning and spent more than an hour examining my paintings and talking them over, telling me the names and qualities of different plants, which I did not know myself. He then took the whole mass (no small weight) in his arms, and carried them in to show the Empress, telling me to follow. She was also very kind, with a sweet, gentle manner, and both had learned since their journey to Europe (of which they never tired of talking) to shake hands in the English manner. They had both prematurely white hair, brought on by the trouble of losing their daughter and the miserable war in Paraguay.
On my second visit to the palace the Emperor was good enough to show me his museum, in which there is a magnificent collection of minerals. He took especial delight in showing me the specimens of coal from the province of Rio Grande do Sul, which promises to be a source of great riches to the country if his schemes of facilitating the transportation can be carried out. At present, though the coal itself is close to the surface of the ground, there are so many transhipments necessary in bringing it to Rio that it is cheaper to bring it from England or the States. I have not the slightest knowledge of mineralogy, but I blacked the ends of my fingers with a wise air and agreed heartily with the Emperor’s opinion that if the precious stuff could be brought into consumption cheaply, it would be of more use to Brazil than all the diamonds of Diamantina. Then he showed me many of the most precious books in his library, some views of the San Francisco, etc.
The palace is not in a good situation, but the Emperor passes a great part of the year at Petropolis, around which there are endless beauties. One spot there especially attracted me, where an old companion of Humboldt’s had settled himself in an unpretending cottage. He had planted all sorts of rare plants and palms around it, and the real virgin forest sloped down to it at the back, while a glorious view of blue mountains was seen