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The Story of Ida Pfeiffer. Unknown
Читать онлайн.Название The Story of Ida Pfeiffer
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Жанр Книги о Путешествиях
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The traveller’s description of it is not very favourably coloured. The streets are dirty, and the houses, even the public buildings, insignificant. The Imperial Palace has not the slightest architectural pretensions. The finest square is the Largo do Roico, but this would not be admitted into Belgravia. It is impossible to speak in high terms even of the churches, the interior of which is not less disappointing than their exterior. And as is the town, so are the inhabitants. Negroes and mulattoes do not make up attractive pictures. Some of the Brazilian and Portuguese women, however, have handsome and expressive countenances.
Most writers indulge in glowing descriptions of the scenery and climate of the Brazils; of the cloudless, radiant sky, and the magic of the never-ending spring. Madame Ida Pfeiffer admits that the vegetation is richer, and the soil more fruitful, and nature more exuberantly active than in any other part of the world; but still, she says, it must not be thought that all is good and beautiful, and that there is nothing to weaken the powerful effect of the first impression. The constant blaze of colour after a while begins to weary; the eye wants rest; the monotony of the verdure oppresses; and we begin to understand that the true loveliness of spring is only rightly appreciated when it succeeds the harsher aspects of winter.
Europeans suffer much from the climate. The moisture is very considerable, and renders the heat, which in the hot months rises to 99° in the shade, and 122° in the sun, more difficult to bear. Fogs and mists are disagreeably common; and whole tracts of country are often veiled by an impenetrable mist.
The Brazils suffer, too, from a plague of insects,—from mosquitoes, ants, baraten, and sand-fleas; against the attacks of which the traveller finds it difficult to defend himself. The ants often appear in trains of immeasurable length, and pursue their march over every obstacle that stands in the way. Madame Pfeiffer, during her residence at a friend’s house, beheld the advance of a swarm of this description. It was really interesting to see what a regular line they formed; nothing could make them deviate from the direction on which they had first determined. Madame Geiger, her friend, told her she was awakened one night by a terrible itching: she sprang out of bed immediately, and lo, a swarm of ants were passing over it! There is no remedy for the infliction, except to wait, with as much patience as one can muster, for the end of the procession, which frequently lasts four to six hours. It is possible, to some extent, to protect provisions against their attacks, by placing the legs of the tables in basins filled with water. Clothes and linen are enclosed in tightly-fitting tin canisters.
The worst plague of all, however, are the sand-fleas, which attach themselves to one’s toes, underneath the nail, or sometimes to the soles of the feet. When a person feels an irritation in these parts, he must immediately look at the place; and if he discern a tiny black point, surrounded by a small white ring, the former is the chigoe, or sand-flea, and the latter the eggs which it has deposited in the flesh. The first thing to be done is to loosen the skin all round as far as the white skin is visible; the whole deposit is then extracted, and a little snuff strewn in the empty space. The blacks perform this operation with considerable skill.
Rich as the Brazils are in natural productions, they are wanting in many articles which Europeans regard as of the first importance. There are sugar and coffee, it is true; but no corn, no potatoes, and none of our delightful varieties of fruit. The flour of manioc, obtained from the cassava plant, which forms a staple portion of almost every dish, supplies the place of bread, but is far from being so nutritious and strengthening; while the different kinds of sweet-tasting roots are far inferior in value to our potato. The only fruit which Madame Pfeiffer thought really excellent, were the oranges, bananas, and mangoes. The pine-apples are neither very sweet nor very fragrant. And with regard to two most important articles of consumption, the milk is very watery, and the meat very dry.
Our traveller, during her sojourn at Rio Janeiro, made many interesting excursions in the neighbourhood. One was directed to Petropolis, a colony founded by Germans in the heart of scenery of the most exquisite character. Accompanied by Count Berchthold, she sailed for Porto d’Estrella in one of the regular coasting barks. Their course carried them across a bay remarkable for its picturesque views. It lies calmly in the embrace of richly-wooded hills, and is studded with islands, like a silver shield with emerald bosses. Some of these islands are completely overgrown with palms, while others are masses of huge rock, with a carpet of green turf.
Their bark was manned by four negroes and a white skipper. At first they ran merrily before a favourable wind, but in two hours the crew were compelled to take to the oars, the method of using which was exceedingly fatiguing. At each dip of the oar, the rower mounts upon a bench in front of him, and then, during the stroke, throws himself off again, with his full force. In two hours more they passed into the river Geromerino, and made their way through a world of beautiful aquatic plants which covered the tranquil waters in every direction. The river banks are flat, and fringed with underwood and young trees; the background is formed by ranges of low green hills.
At Porto d’Estrella, Madame Pfeiffer and her companion landed, and proceeded on foot towards Petropolis. The first eight miles lay through a broad valley, clothed with dense brambles and young trees, and shadowed by lofty mountains. The wild pine-apples by the roadside were very fair to see; they were not quite ripe, but tinted of the most delicate red. Beautiful humming-birds flashed through the air like “winged jewels,” and studded the dense foliage with points of many-coloured light.
After passing through the valley, they reached the Sierra, as the Brazilians term the practicable mountain-summits. It was three thousand feet in height, and was ascended by a broad paved road, striking through the depths of virgin forests.
Madame Pfeiffer had always imagined that the trees in virgin forests had very thick and lofty trunks; but such was not the case here; probably because the vegetation was too luxuriant, and the larger trunks have the life crushed out of them by masses of smaller trees, bushes, creepers, and parasites.
Frequent truppas, or teams of ten mules driven by a negro, as well as numerous pedestrians, enlivened the path, and prevented our travellers from observing that their steps were persistently followed up by a negro. When, however, they arrived at a somewhat lonely spot, this negro suddenly sprang forward, holding a lasso in one hand and a long knife in the other, and with threatening gestures gave them to understand that he intended to murder them, and then drag their dead bodies into the forest!
The travellers were without arms, having been told the road was perfectly safe; their only weapons were their umbrellas, with the exception of a clasp-knife. This the brave woman drew from her pocket and opened, in the calm resolution to sell her life as dearly as possible. With their umbrellas they parried their adversary’s blows as long as they could; but he caught hold of Madame Ida’s, which snapped off, leaving only a piece of the handle in her hand. In the struggle, however, he dropped his knife, which rolled a few steps away from him. Madame Ida immediately made a dash at it, and thought she had secured it; but, quicker in his movements than she was, he thrust her away with his hands and feet, and once more obtained possession of it. Waving it furiously over his head, he slashed her twice in the upper part of the left arm. All seemed lost; but in her extreme peril the brave lady bethought her of her own knife, and struck at her adversary, wounding him in the hand. At the same moment Count Berchthold sprang forward, and while he seized the villain with both arms, Madame Ida Pfeiffer recovered her feet. All this took place in less than a minute. The negro was now roused into a condition of maniacal fury; he gnashed his teeth like a wild beast, and brandished his knife, while uttering fearful threats. The issue of the contest would probably have been disastrous, but for the opportune arrival of assistance. Hearing the tramp of horses’ hoofs upon the road, the negro desisted from his attack, and sprang into the forest. A couple of horsemen turning the corner of the road, our travellers hurried to meet them; and having told their tale, which, indeed, their wounds told eloquently enough, they leaped from their horses, and