His first impression of Rio was its staggering beauty. The broad estuary on the inner side of which it lay was so long that its discoverer, André Gonçalves, sailing up it on the first day of the year 1502, had christened it the River of January.
The cloudless azure sky, reflected in the waters of its many bays, made them a heavenly blue. Slopes covered with the bright green of palms and other tropical vegetation rose from them. In places spurs of high land ran right down to the sea. The spurs led up to a panorama of lofty hills, beyond which were range after range of mountains, lavender-hued as they faded into the far distance.
But as they advanced into the city itself, Roger’s elation at the sight of this beautiful setting swiftly evaporated. He had expected it to resemble a second-rate town in Spain or Portugal, with straggling suburbs of poor dwellings; but, as the capital of one of the greatest colonies in the world, to have a broad main street, a spacious, tree-shaded square and a few fine buildings in the centre. It had none of these things.
The only square, which gave on to a stony beach littered with wreckage and refuse, was of bare, hard-trodden earth, with not a tree upon it. The principal street was mean and narrow. The only building of any size was the Viceroy’s Palace, a low, ugly block from which the white paint was peeling and with narrow, dirty windows. Near it was the Telles Arch, an evil-smelling passageway, in which a score of scrofulous beggars were lounging. The other streets leading from it were even meaner and no more than alleyways between rows of high houses with greenish balconies and steep grey roofs. The only drainage consisted of gutters, cleansed from time to time by downpours of tropical rain; but, as the weather had been fine for the past week or so, they were now choked with garbage and excrement thrown out of the windows. The stench beggared description.
Roger’s guide took him to the only inn. It was run by a Frenchman named Philippe, a robust and cheerful individual, who gave him a hearty welcome and showed him up to a passably well-furnished room. Already Roger had noted that the café on the ground floor was clean and bright, and was deeply thankful for having been brought to this little oasis of civilised living in a town of such unbelievable poverty and squalor.
Having thanked his guide and sent him and the Indian off with handsome pourboires, Roger ordered hot water to be brought up, so that he could have a most welcome bath, and sent for a barber to shave him. During the voyage he had grown a full beard. Now he had it shaved off, but retained his side-whiskers. It was weeks since he had looked in a mirror. On doing so it suddenly struck him that the reddish tint with which he had dyed his hair in Lisbon had grown out. But no-one aboard the Nunez appeared to have noticed that.
He then sought out the landlord, ordered the best bottle of wine available, and invited him to share it. Nothing loath, Philippe produced a dust-encrusted bottle of Madeira and took his guest into his own small parlour. When they had settled down, Roger asked:
‘Would you like to make a large sum of money?’
‘But naturally.’ The Frenchman spread out his hands and grinned. ‘Providing, Senhor, that it is within the law. Even a week in the prison here is as good as a death sentence. Each newcomer picks up from some other prisoner typhus, smallpox or cholera, and the poor devils die like flies.’
‘No, it is nothing illegal. But I am in possession of a secret which could make you a rich man within a month. And I am prepared to disclose it to you if you can do me a service.’
‘Tell me your requirements, Senhor.’
‘They are quite simple. I intend to settle here, and I want to lease a furnished house for not less than a year. I am aware that I cannot expect to acquire a handsome property in this miserable city. But it must be of a fair size, with, say, six or seven rooms and not in the town itself; somewhere on the outskirts with, preferably, a garden.’
‘That should not be difficult if you are prepared to pay a fair price for it.’
‘I am. But I want it tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow!’ The Frenchman raised his eyebrows. ‘That is another matter. It will take time to make enquiries. And the people here are beyond belief indolent. Any notary in Rio would take a month or more to draw up the contract.’
‘No doubt. That is why I am offering you a small fortune for getting me what I want. You have the morning to work in and, by mid-afternoon, the contract must have been drawn up and signed, so that I can take immediate possession. Otherwise the deal is off.’
Philippe considered for a moment, then he asked, ‘What guarantee have I that you are not making a fool of me?’
On the little finger of his left hand Roger was wearing a fine diamond ring. Drawing it off, he threw it across the table. ‘There is your guarantee. Should you fail, I will trust you to return it to me.’
Picking up the ring, the innkeeper made a little bow. ‘The moment I set eyes upon you. Senhor, I realised that you were an hidalgo; and there are few such in this filthy town in which fate has condemned me to make my living. Your haste in this matter puzzles me, as it will cost you much more than you would normally have to pay. But it is not for me to enquire why you are in such a hurry. You can rely on me to do my best for you.’
Roger had come from Lisbon with only the clothes he stood up in, so next morning he went out and bought a selection of poor-quality garments, which were the best he could find.
He then took a stroll round the town, and was more than ever appalled by the filth and destitution that he saw on all sides. It far exceeded the worst accounts he had had of the place, by the telling of which he had endeavoured in vain to dissuade Lisala from leaving Lisbon for Brazil.
The only feature of the otherwise barren square was a rude fountain, round which was a crowd of Negro slaves, waiting their turn to fill pitchers they carried on their heads, as none of the houses had water laid on. Near the Viceregal Palace stood an ugly little church. On entering it he saw, in accordance with the dictates of religion, several corpses laid out. They were already blue and stinking, so another focus for disseminating disease; and he hurried out. He had already noted that everyone he passed was hung about with crucifixes and other sacred symbols, which indicated that the inhabitants of the place were under the thraldom of a dirty, ignorant priesthood.
At the sea end of the square there was a fish market: the stalls covered with filthy, ragged canvas which only partly kept off the myriads of flies. Further along stood the Arsenal and, anchored off it, were a number of fishing boats painted in brilliant colours; adding yet another touch to the beauty of the more distant scene. But by ten o’clock the sun was blazing down so fiercely that, his shirt sticking to him with perspiration, he went back to the inn.
At midday, Philippe returned to say he had found a house that might prove suitable, and they drove to it in a rickety carriage drawn by a starved-looking mule. The place was a rambling, two-storey building, standing in two acres of garden and woodland, on a slight eminence just outside the town. It was sparsely furnished and in bad repair; but its accommodation was ample for Roger’s requirements and in front it had a long verandah, from which there was a splendid view of the lovely bay.
The owner was a childless widow who, Philippe had informed Roger on their way there, had been left badly off and was having difficulty in making both ends meet. She received them courteously and a Negress slave brought coffee for them. Evidently having seen in Philippe’s approach that morning a probability that she might be able to dispose of her property for a good round sum, and settle permanently in more economical quarters, she announced that, having thought matters over, she was averse to letting the house but was prepared to sell it; and named a figure.
Roger still had a considerable sum in gold in his money-belt, but nowhere near enough to buy the property outright. Nevertheless, he was quick to realise that, when the flotilla of refugees arrived, he would be able to resell the place for ten times its present value. So he said he was agreeable to buy, provided the lady would take somewhat less, and accept payment by instalments over the next twelve
months. He then excused himself to have another look at the view from the verandah, leaving Philippe, as they had previously arranged, to negotiate on his behalf.
Out on the verandah he anxiously scrutinised the bay as, should the flotilla be sighted before he had completed his arrangements, the advantage he had derived from arriving in Rio ahead of it would be lost. To his relief, only a solitary merchantman, outward bound, was in sight.
Ten minutes later, Philippe joined him to say that he had got a third off the price. Ten per cent was to be paid down, and the remainder at monthly intervals. In spite of the grilling heat, accompanied by the widow, they piled into the carriage and drove into the town to the house of the lady’s notary.
He was about to settle down for his siesta and expressed great surprise at being asked to transact any business with such urgency; but he was prevailed upon by the offer of an exceptionally large fee to draw up a letter of agreement which, pending a formal contract, would be binding upon both parties. Roger paid the ten per cent in gold and the widow duly signed, at the same time agreeing to give possession that evening, then collect her personal belongings later and several pieces of furniture which she particularly valued.
Having left the widow with her lawyer, on the way back to Philippe’s inn Roger disclosed the secret he had promised the Frenchman. Don Joao was shortly to be expected in Brazil and with him were coming fifteen thousand people. The price of everything was certain to skyrocket. All Philippe had to do was to go out at once and buy every cask and bottle of wine he could lay his hands on. His profits should be enormous.
Amazed, most grateful and tremendously excited, Philippe set off immediately, to secure the supplies which would prove a bonanza for him. Roger went up to his room and, satisfied with the result of his exertions, but sweating like a pig, collapsed upon his bed.
In the comparative cool of the evening, he again went out and down to the barren square. Round the shoddy fountain he found gathered the notables of the city, as it transpired was their custom. Most of them sat lethargically in carrying chairs, fanning themselves and slowly imbibing fruit drinks laced with locally-made spirit, brought to them by Negro slaves. So enervated had they become by the climate and the dreary lives they led that the arrival of Roger as a newcomer aroused in them only a faint interest. When questioned about himself, Roger said that he was an Englishman travelling for pleasure, and the ship in which he had sailed from Europe had become so damaged in a tempest that she had been forced to drop anchor off Macoé, to carry out immediate repairs. Meanwhile he kept an eye on the entrance to the great bay, expecting that the arrival of the flotilla could not now be long delayed.
When darkness fell, there was still no sign of it, but at half past six the next morning, Philippe roused Roger with the news that it was approaching. Having dressed in haste, Roger hurried down to the square, to find half the population of the city already assembled, and the remainder flowing into it.
A fishing boat had encountered the flotilla soon after dawn and at once returned to harbour with the almost incredible news that the Prince Regent was on his way from Portugal to take up permanent residence in Brazil. That His Royal Highness was not aboard one of the ships, now only a mile away, was a disappointment but, nevertheless, the huge crowd of people was wild with excitement.
The Viceroy went off in his barge, on which the gold leaf had long since tarnished, to welcome the distinguished refugees, and brought ashore the most important ones, among whom was de Pombal. It took Roger ten minutes to fight his way through the crowd until the Marquis caught sight of him and exclaimed, rather coldly Roger thought:
‘Why, Mr. Brook! You left us without explanation at Macoé and we have been wondering what had happened to you. It seems you decided to steal a march on us by making your way here overland.’
Roger gave a wry smile. ‘It is as well I did, milord; for I fear you will all find Rio a far from pleasant city to live in. But at least I have secured for you reasonable accommodation.’
Another two hours elapsed before Lisala, her aunt and Dona Christina came ashore. Since the day that her charge had gone with Roger up the mountain outside Isfahan, the duenna had always regarded him with suspicious hostility; but the other two ladies were delighted to see him.
He was, however, much amused by their reactions when he took them out to see their new home. They thanked him courteously for his forethought in finding quarters for them, but by their standards it was a poor place, and they obviously found difficulty in restraining their comments on its lack of amenities.
It was not until the evening that they began to appreciate the service he had rendered them. While they rested during the hottest hours, he returned to the inn to collect an ample supply of stores that he had asked Philippe to procure for him, and the Marquis went down to the hard to superintend the bringing ashore by his servants of the most urgently-needed baggage. De Pombal got back an hour or so before Roger, and gave the ladies a first account of the amazement and distress of their companions during the voyage at finding themselves stranded in such a place as stinking, poverty-stricken and disease-ridden Rio.
The evening went in unpacking and in arranging the rooms. The latter business provided a succession of unhappy surprises for the ladies, as they found the cooking utensils scanty, dirty and worn, the beds hard; many of the sheets holed; and large, dangerous-looking spiders on the ceilings of those bedrooms that had not been occupied for a considerable time. But the Marquis comforted them by saying that, within a few days, they would have all the household goods, furnishings and pictures that they had brought with them from Lisbon. Over an alfresco supper they became more cheerful and were at least able to enjoy the relief that their ghastly voyage was over.
The bedroom that Roger had chosen for himself was only one door away from that allotted to Lisala, her duenna’s room being in between. It had been a tiring day, so they all retired to bed early. Roger restrained his impatience until midnight, then tiptoed along to Lisala’s room.
It was lit by a solitary candle, and she was sitting up in bed waiting for him. In fervid whispers they exchanged greetings, then made violent love, temporarily satiating the terrible frustration to which they had both been subject for so many weeks. But both of them felt too weak and tired to repeat the act. For a long while they lay embraced and dawn was creeping through the curtains when Roger tiptoed back to his room.
Two days after the arrival of the flotilla, news came in that Don Joao and his principal Ministers had landed on January 22nd at Bahia, the old capital, eight hundred miles to the north; then that other ships of the scattered fleet had arrived at other Brazilian ports.
During the days that followed, it frequently rained in torrents, often for hours at a stretch, and the marshlands outside the city became swamps: breeding grounds for malaria-carrying mosquitoes. Meanwhile the unhappy exiles made such arrangements for themselves as they could. Quite unscrupulously the Viceroy commandeered the best houses in the town for the Portuguese nobility, and the unfortunate Brazilian owners were compelled to occupy lodgings little better than shacks. Other rich refugees who had brought large sums of money with them paid fantastic prices for houses with only three or four rooms. The majority continued to live in the ships for as long as they could, and only gradually acquired mean accommodation.
The newcomers soon began to adopt many of the customs of the Brazilians—the hours they kept, the food they ate and the clothes they wore—which had been dictated largely by the torrid climate. From Portugal the wealthy had brought only their personal servants, stewards and cooks, all of whom were white. Here in Rio mulattos occasionally filled such posts; but the great majority of servants were Negro slaves, and such exiles as could afford to do so bought one or several of them.
De Pombal purchased seven: two to do the menial tasks in the house, four to act as stablemen or carry the heavily-curtained sedan chairs used by the ladies when they went into the town, and a seventh who acted as a guard to keep the swarms of be
ggars from molesting them.
This last was named Baob, and he was a much superior man to the average slave. He was a magnificent specimen of the Negro and claimed to be the son of an African chief. As it was several years since he had been shipped over to Rio, he knew the city thoroughly and was unusually intelligent. In accordance with custom there, the Marquis had made for him a smart livery in the de Pombal colours. Waving his long staff threateningly as he preceded the ladies, he made a most imposing figure. When not so employed he had the free run of the house and was always on call for any small service they required.
When the people of quality had settled in, they began to visit one another at their new homes, spending hours over meagre refreshments while they aired their bitter complaints. Roger accompanied the de Pombals on these occasions, and to a reception given by the Viceroy. The so-called ‘Palace’ proved to be on a par with the rest of the town. Starved for many years by the Home Government of sufficient funds to maintain a state in keeping with their high office, the Viceroys had lived in penury. The rooms had not been redecorated for several generations; the furniture was conspicuous by its very scantiness; most of such chairs and sofas as there were had cotton covers to conceal the fact that in places their brocade had rotted away; and the walls were stained with mildew.
In the meantime, Roger was spending most of every night with Lisala. During the voyage being constantly in each other’s company, yet unable to do more than snatch a very occasional kiss, had at times made them irritable and quarrelsome. But now that good food and leisure had restored their vigour they were enjoying the renewal of their passion with the same abandon and delight as they had experienced during the first hectic nights they had spent together in Isfahan; and, so far, they had no reason to believe that any member of the household suspected their liaison.
Evil in a Mask Page 34