of the fact that when first discovered, the bay was mistaken for the mouth of a great river, the River of January.
Since the early years of the sixteenth century, Rio has been conspicuous in the annals of discovery and conquest. Magellan touched here on his famous voyage round the world. The spot where he landed is now the site of a large hospital and medical school. French Huguenots attempted to find here a refuge in the time of the great Admiral Coligny. As one steams slowly into the harbor, one passes close to the historic island of Villegagnon, whose romantic story has been so graphically told by Parkman.
Hither came the King of Portugal, flying from the wrath of Napoleon. Here lived the good Emperor Don Pedro II, one of the most beneficent monarchs the world has ever seen. And into these waters are soon to come Brazil’s new Dreadnoughts, about which all the world has been speculating, and which have made Argentina almost forget the necessities of economic development in her anxiety to keep up with Brazil in the way of armament.
An elaborate system of new docks, that has been in the course of construction for a long time, has not been completed yet; so we anchor a mile or more from the shore, not far from a score of ocean steamers and half a hundred sailing vessels. Before the anchor falls we are surrounded by a noisy fleet of steam launches, whose whistles keep up a most infernal tooting. A score of these insistent screamers attempt to get alongside of our companion-way at the same time. In addition, half a hundred row-boats attack the ladder where some of the steerage passengers are trying to disembark.
We had heard, before entering the port, that there were several hundred cases of smallpox here, besides other infectious diseases. Yet this did not prevent everybody that wanted to, and could afford the slight cost of transportation, from coming out from the shore and boarding our vessel. Such a chattering, such a rustling of silk skirts and a fluttering of feathers on enormous hats, such ecstatic greetings given to returning citizens! Such ultra-Parisian fashions!
On shore we found the marks of modern Rio—electric cars, fashionable automobiles, well-paved streets, electric lights, and comfortable hotels—very much in evidence. Were it not for the blinding sunlight that fairly puts one’s eyes out in the middle of the day, one could readily forget one’s whereabouts. To be sure, if you go to look for it, there is the older part of the city which still needs cleaning up according to modern ideas of sanitation. But if you are content to spend your time in the fashionable end of the town or speeding along the fine new thoroughfares in a fast motor car, it is easy to think no more of Rio’s bad record as an unhealthy port.
The city of Rio is spread over a large peninsula that juts out from the south into the waters of the great bay. Across the peninsula, through the centre of the busiest part of the city, the Brazilians have recently opened a broad boulevard, the Avenida Central. Fine modern business blocks have sprung up as if by magic, and the effect is most resplendent. The spacious avenue is in marked contrast with the very narrow little streets that cross it. One of them, the Rua Ouvidor, the meeting-place of the wits of Rio, is in many ways the most interesting street in Brazil. Here one may see everybody that is anybody in Rio.
At one end of the Avenida Central is Monroe Palace, which once did duty at an International Exposition, and more recently was the meeting-place of the third Pan-American Conference, made notable by the presence of Secretary Root. Beyond the showy palace to the east there are a number of little bays, semi-circular indentations in the shore, which have recently been lined with splendid broad driveways, where one may enjoy the sea breeze and a marvellous view over the inland sea to the mountains beyond.
At the far end of the new parkway rises the ever-present Sugar Loaf, at whose feet are the buildings of the National Exposition. They are wonderfully well situated, lying as they do on a little isthmus wedged in between two gigantic rocks, with the ocean on one side and the beautiful bay on the other. The buildings themselves are not particularly remarkable, being decorated in the gorgeous style of elaborate whiteness that one is accustomed to associate with expositions.
The crowds I saw there were composed exclusively of Brazilians, most of whom had apparently visited the grounds many times and accepted them as the fashionable evening rendezvous. Each of the states of Brazil had a building of its own in which to exhibit its products, and there was a theatre, a “Fine Arts” building, a Hall of Manufactures, and a sad attempt at a Midway. An entire building was devoted to the manufactures and exports of Portugal. All other buildings were devoted to the states or industries of Brazil, making the prejudice in favor of the mother country all the more noticeable.
A change is coming over the foreign commerce of Rio. Twenty years ago, the largest importing firms were French and English. Many of these have practically disappeared, having been driven out by Portuguese, Italian, and German houses. The marked leaning toward goods of Portuguese origin is very striking and naturally difficult to combat.
Brazil has recently established in Paris an office for promoting the country and aiding its economic expansion. This office is publishing a considerable literature, mostly in French, and will undoubtedly be able to bring about an increase of European commerce and that immigration which Brazil so much needs. The completion of the new docks will greatly help matters.
But besides new docks Rio needs a reformed customs service. Every one is agreed that the most vexatious thing in Rio is the attitude of the custom house officials. Either because they are poorly paid or else simply because they have fallen into extremely bad habits, they are allowed to receive tips and gratuities openly. The result may easily be imagined.
A few days after my arrival, an American naturalist, thoroughly honest but of a rather short temper, was treated with outrageous discourtesy, and his personal effects strewn unceremoniously over the dirty floor of the warehouse by angry inspectors, simply because he was unwilling to bribe them. There was no question as to his having any dutiable goods.
The population of Rio is variously estimated at between seven and eight hundred thousand, but her enthusiastic citizens frequently exaggerate this and speak in an offhand way of her having a million people. They are naturally reluctant to admit that Rio has any fewer than Buenos Aires.
The suburbs of Rio are remarkably attractive. On the great bay, dotted with its beautiful islands, are various resorts that take advantage of the natural beauties of the place, and cater to the pleasure-loving Brazilians. From various ports on the bay, railroads radiate in all possible directions, going north into the heart of the mining region and west through the coffee country to Saõ Paulo. The terminus of a little scenic railway is the top of one of the highest and most remarkable of the near-by peaks, the Corcovado. The view from the summit can scarcely be surpassed in the whole world. The intensely blue waters of the bay, the bright white sunlight reflected from the fleecy cumulous clouds so typical of the tropics, the verdure-clad hills, and the white city spread out like a map on the edge of the bay, combine to make a marvellous picture.
No account of Rio, however brief, would be complete without some reference to the “Jornal do Comercio,” the leading newspaper of Brazil, whose owner and editor, Dr. J. C. Rodriguez, is one of the most influential men in the country. In addition to guiding public opinion through his powerful and ably edited newspaper, he has had the time to attend to numerous charities and to the collection of a most remarkable library of books relating to Brazil. He has recently taken high rank as a bibliographer by publishing a much sought after volume on early Braziliana, basing his information largely on his own matchless collection.
Another well-edited paper is “O Paiz,” which like the “Jornal do Comercio” has its own handsome edifice on the new Avenida Central. A subscription to it for one year costs “thirty thousand reis”—a trifle over nine dollars!
