Utterly appalled by this spectacle of ruthless inhumanity, had Roger been a less rational man he would have gone into the Chapel of the Virgin and overthrown her image for permitting such atrocities. As it was, having long since rejected the belief that, if a Christian God did exist, he had any power whatever to protect his votaries, he rode back into Rio sick with rage and disgust.
At the end of the month, news arrived that caused the merchant community of Rio to become delirious with joy. For three centuries Brazil, as a colony of Portugal, had been restricted to selling her products only to the mother country; and Portugal could absorb only a limited quantity of the valuable merchandise that Brazil could supply. Under the liberal influence of Jose da Silva Lisboa, Vicondc de Cairu, the Prince Regent had issued an Ordinance opening Brazilian ports to the ships of all nations. A still further cause for rejoicing was that Don Joao had left Bahia and was on his way to Rio, which he intended to make his permanent capital.
Lenten tribulations were swept aside and the Carnival that normally followed it was anticipated by several days. The city became a Bedlam. The wealthy retired into their houses. The narrow streets became solid rivers of dancing, laughing people. Silk and satin garments, which slaves were normally forbidden to wear, were donned by the Fiesta Kings and Queens elected by them. Carried high upon swaying palanquins, they made their way slowly through the throng, preceded by drummers, trumpeters and rattle-wielders.
All order vanished. The Viceroy's dragoons were powerless to stop even the worst excesses. Reeling with drink, the Negroes defied their masters, broke into the shops and copulated joyfully with their women in the gutters.
This saturnalia continued for several days; then it eased a little, only to be renewed when on March 7th Don Joao and his Court, accompanied by several thousand other exiles, arrived. The Prince was received with unbounded enthusiasm. Every window in the city remained alight all night. The following morning, a thousand dead-drunks lay snoring where they had fallen in the alleys adjacent to the Viceroy's Palace. The great horde of diseased, crippled and destitute descended on them like flights of vultures, to rob them of the few coins or trinkets they possessed.
From the beginning Roger had decided that Rio was an impossible place for a civilised man to make his permanent home in. For the week he had been living under the same roof as Lisala he had put all thoughts of the future from him, except the possibility that, in time, her father would consent to their marriage. All hope of that had been shattered, and even his ingenuity had failed to devise a means by which he might continue to be her lover.
Several weeks had now passed since they had slept together and the feeling had been growing upon him that there was little likelihood of their ever doing so again. The unsavoury city, with the din of church bells calling its religion-obsessed population to some service every hour of the day, and the disgusting orgies that had been taking place during the past fortnight had, at length, decided him to endeavour to forget Lisala and make his way back to Europe as soon as an opportunity offered.
It came on March 20th, with the arrival of the British frigate. Phantom. Roger gave her Captain time to go ashore and make his number with the Portuguese authorities; then, the following morning, had himself rowed out to her. Her Commander was a Captain Jackson and it chanced that, in the eighties, he had served in the Caribbean as a Midshipman under Roger's father. Over a bottle of Canary Sack, they talked of the Admiral and other matters.
Captain Jackson had brought out a despatch from Mr. Canning to Don Joao's Foreign Minster and, when a reply was ready, would return to England. He willingly agreed to take Roger with him.
The Phantom had left Portsmouth on February 10th, and up till then there had been little difference in the situation on the Continent. Junot had swiftly subdued Portugal, and Napoleon was continuing to perfect his 'Continental System'. The Kingdom of Etruria, in northern Italy, had, in 1802, been created by him as a puppet State for the daughter of Carlos VI of Spain. That winter he had arbitrarily taken it over, and incorporated the Kingdom in that of Italy, which was governed for him by his stepson, Eugene de Bcauharnais. Then, in January, when the Pope had insisted on maintaining his neutrality and refused to close his ports to Brittish shipping, the Emperor had sent an army to occupy Rome.
Knowing the dilatoriness of the Portuguese, it was not to be expected that a reply to Mr. Canning's despatch would be forthcoming for at least a week; so Captain Jackson said he would let Roger know when it came to hand, which would still give Roger several hours' notice before Phantom was ready to sail.
Towards the end of the week Roger began to wonder what course he should pursue with regard to Lisala. If there had been any possibility of securing a private meeting with her, he certainly would have done so; but if he made a formal call on the de Pombals, nothing was to be gained by that, and the unexpected announcement of his coming departure might quite possibly lead to a most undesirable scene in the presence of her family. Eventually he decided to write a letter and get Baob to deliver it to her.
Next morning, up in his room, he set about it, giving as his reasons for leaving Rio: the hopelessness of their again being even temporarily united and—which was true enough—the fact that, having all his life lived at the centre of great events, he could not bring himself to remain any longer in exile in such uncongenial surroundings. He was just about to add how much her love had meant to him and how he would always treasure the memory of it, when Mobo, the slave whom Philippe had procured to act as Roger's servant, came up to say that Baob was below asking to see him.
Putting aside his letter, Roger told Mobo to go down and bring Baob up. On entering the room the huge, gaily-clad Negro bowed profoundly and, as Roger had felt almost certain would be the case, handed him a letter from Lisala.
Breaking the seal, he opened and read it. To his consternation she had written to tell him that she was enceinte, and to implore his help. She had done everything she could think of to terminate her pregnancy, but had failed. In due course, Dona Christina, or her Aunt Anna, could not fail to realise her condition, and would tell her father. The fate of girls of good family in such circumstances was ordained by custom. Her baby would be taken from her and she would be forced to take the veil. The thought of spending the rest of her life in a convent was more than she could bear. She would rather commit suicide. Her only hope was in him. Somehow he must get her out of the house and take her to some distant place where she could have his child and they would afterwards live happily together.
Roger's brain began to race. For a moment he visualised the sort of existence Lisala would be compelled to lead in a convent: fasts, penances, perpetual discomfort in rough clothes or on board-hard beds, periods of enforced silence, having to kneel on the cold stones of a chapel several times a day. He could not possibly abandon her to such a fate. And she was carrying his child. From long experience he had always been most careful about taking every possible precaution. But obviously they must have slipped up on one of those first nights in Rio, when weariness after their hideous voyage had made them careless.