A dreadful All Saints’ Day—The Victims of a Minute—Report of an Eye-witness—Conflagration—Banditti—Pombal brings Order into Chaos—Intrigues of the Jesuits—Damages caused by the Earthquake in other Places—at Cadiz—in Barbary—Widespread Alarm—Remarks of Goethe on the Earthquake.

History exhibits few catastrophes more terrible than that which was caused by the great earthquake which, on November 1, 1755, levelled the town of Lisbon to the dust. On other occasions, such as that of a siege, a famine, or a plague, calamity approaches by degrees, giving its victims time to measure its growth, and preparing them, as it were, to sustain an increasing weight of misery; but here destruction fell upon the devoted city with the rapidity of a flash of lightning.

A bright sun shone over Lisbon on that fatal morning. The weather was as mild and beautiful as on a fine summer’s day in England, when, about forty minutes past nine, in the morning, an earthquake shock, followed almost immediately by another and another, brought down convents, churches, palaces, and houses in one common ruin, and, at a very moderate computation, occasioned the loss of thirty thousand lives. ‘The shocking sight of the dead bodies,’ says an eye-witness of the scene, ‘together with the shrieks and cries of those who were half buried in the ruins, exceeds all description; for the fear and consternation were so great that the most resolute person durst not stay a moment to remove a few stones off the friend he loved most, though many might have been saved by so doing; but nothing was thought of but self-preservation. Getting into open places, and into the middle of streets, was the most probable security. Such as were in the upper storeys of houses were, in general, more fortunate than those who attempted to escape by the doors; for they were buried under the ruins with the greatest part of the foot-passengers; such as were in equipages escaped best, though their cattle and drivers suffered severely; but those lost in houses and the streets are very unequal in number to those that were buried in the ruins of churches; for as it was a day of great devotion, and the time of celebrating mass, all the churches in the city were vastly crowded; and the number of churches here exceeds that of both London and Westminster; and as the steeples are built high, they mostly fell with the roof of the church, and the stones are so large that few escaped.’^[11]

Many of those who were not crushed or disabled by the falling buildings fled to the Tagus, vainly hoping that they might find there the safety which they had lost on land. For, soon after the shock, the sea also came rushing in like a torrent, though against wind and tide, and rising in an enormous wave, overflowed its banks, devouring all it met on its destructive path. Many large vessels sank at once; others, torn from their anchors, disappeared in the vortex, or, striking against each other, were shattered to pieces. A fine new stone quay, where about three thousand persons had assembled for safety, slipped into the river, and every one was lost; nor did so much as a single body appear afterwards.

Had the misery ended here, it might in some degree have admitted of redress; for, though lives could not be restored, yet a great part of the immense riches that were in the ruins might have been recovered; but a new calamity soon put an end to such hopes, for, in about two hours after the shock, fires broke out in three different parts of the city, caused by the goods and the kitchen fires being all jumbled together. About this time also, a fresh gale suddenly springing up, made the fire rage with such violence that, at the end of three days, the greatest part of the city was reduced to ashes. What the earthquake had spared fell a prey to the fire, and the flames consumed thousands of mutilated victims, who, incapable of flight, lay half-buried in the ruins.

According to a popular report, which, true or not, shows the hatred in which the Holy Office was held, the Inquisition was the first building that fell down, and probably more than one inquisitor, who, in his life-time, had sent scores of Jews or heretics to the stake, was now, in his turn, burnt alive.

As if the unshackled elements were not sufficient agents of destruction, the prisons also cast forth their lawless denizens, and a host of malefactors, rejoicing in the public calamity which paralysed the arm of justice, added rapine and murder to the miseries of the city.

More than 60,000 persons are supposed to have perished in Lisbon from all these various causes. The total loss of property was estimated at fifty millions of dollars, an enormous sum for a small country, and in times when money was far more valuable than at present. A few shocks sufficed to destroy the treasures accumulated by the savings of many generations.

The royal family was at this time residing in the small palace of Belem, about a league out of town, and thus escaped being buried among the ruins of the capital—a fortunate occurrence in the midst of so many misfortunes; for the anarchy that must have ensued from the destruction of all authority would have filled the cup of misery to the brim. As it was, Government seemed utterly incapable of contending with a disaster of such colossal proportions. ‘What is to be done?’ said the helpless king to his minister Carvalho, Marquis of Pombal, who, on entering the council-chamber, found his sovereign vainly seeking for advice among his weeping and irresolute courtiers: ‘how can we alleviate the chastisement which Divine justice has imposed upon us?’ ‘Sire! by burying the dead and taking care of the living,’ was the ready answer of the great statesman, whose noble bearing and confident mien at once restored the king’s courage. From that moment JosÉ bestowed a boundless confidence upon Pombal. Without losing a single moment, the minister, invested with full powers, threw himself into a carriage, and hastened with all speed to the scene of destruction. Wherever his presence was most needed, there was he sure to be found. For several days and nights he never left his carriage, whence, incessantly active in his efforts to reduce chaos to order, he issued no less than two hundred decrees, all bearing the stamp of a master-mind. Troops from the provinces were summoned in all haste, and concentrated round the capital, which no one was allowed to leave without permission, so that the robbers, who had enriched themselves with the plunder of palaces and churches, were unable to escape with their spoils.

In all his numerous ordinances Carvalho neglected none of the details necessary for insuring their practical utility, writing many of them on his knees with a pencil, and sending them, without loss of time, to the various officers charged with their execution. His wise regulations for ensuring a speedy supply and a regular distribution of provisions averted famine. Great fears were entertained of pestilential disorders, in consequence of the putrid exhalations of so many corpses, which it was impossible to bury. To prevent this additional misfortune, Carvalho induced the Patriarch to give orders that the bodies of the dead should be cast into the sea, with only such religious ceremonies as circumstances permitted.

But the Jesuits, the mortal enemies of the enlightened minister, did not lose this opportunity of intriguing against him, and openly ascribed the catastrophe to the wrath of God against an impious Government. Thus Pombal had not only to cope with the disastrous effects of the earthquake, but also with the venomous attacks of hypocritical bigots, in spite of whose clamours he interdicted all public processions and devotional exercises that were calculated still further to inflame the excited minds of the populace.

Though Lisbon was the chief sufferer from the great earthquake of 1755, the shocks which destroyed the capital of Portugal proved disastrous in many other places, and vibrated far and wide over a considerable portion of the globe. St. Ubes was nearly swallowed up by the sudden rising of the sea. At Cadiz the shocks were so violent that the water in the cisterns washed backwards and forwards so as to make a great froth upon it. No damage was done, on account of the excessive strength of the buildings; but, about an hour after, an immense wave, at least 60 feet higher than common, was seen approaching from the sea. It broke against the west part of the town, which is very rocky, and where, fortunately, the cliffs abated a great deal of its force. At last it burst upon the walls, destroyed part of the fortifications, and swept away huge pieces of cannon. The strong causeway which connects the town with the Island of Leon, was utterly destroyed, and more than fifty people drowned that were on it at the time.

In Seville a number of houses were thrown down, and the bells were set a-ringing in Malaga. In Italy, Germany, and France, in Holland and in Sweden, in Great Britain and in Ireland, the lakes and rivers were violently agitated. The water in Loch Lomond rose suddenly and violently against its banks, so that a large stone lying at some distance from the shore, in shallow water, was moved from its place, and carried to dry land, leaving a deep furrow in the ground along which it had moved. At Kinsale, in Ireland, a great body of water suddenly burst into the harbour, and with such violence that it broke the cables of two vessels, each moored with two anchors, and of several boats which lay near the town. The vessels were whirled round several times by an eddy formed in the water, and then hurried back again with the same rapidity as before. London was shaken, the midland counties disturbed, and one high cliff in Yorkshire threw down its half-separated rocks. At TÖplitz, in Bohemia, between eleven and twelve o’clock, the mineral waters increased so much in quantity that all the baths ran over. About half an hour before, the spring grew turbid and flowed muddy, and, having stopped entirely for nearly a minute, broke forth again with prodigious violence, driving before it a considerable quantity of reddish ochre. After this, it became clear, and flowed as pure as before, but supplying more water than usual, and that hotter and more impregnated with its medicinal substances.

In Barbary, the earthquake was felt nearly as severely as in Portugal. Great part of the city of Algiers was destroyed; at Fez, Mequinez, and Morocco many houses were thrown down, and numbers of persons were buried in the ruins. At Tangiers and Sallee the waters rushed into the streets with great violence, and when they retired they left behind them a great quantity of fish.

Ships sailing on the distant Atlantic received such violent concussions that it seemed as if they had struck upon a rock, and even America was disturbed.

At the Island of Antigua the sea rose to such a height as had never been known before, and at Barbadoes a tremendous wave overflowed the wharfs and rushed into the streets. The remote Canadian lakes were seen to ebb and flow in an extraordinary manner, and the Red Indian hunter felt the last expiring pulsations of the great terrestrial shock which a few hours before had overthrown the distant capital of Portugal.

Such were the extraordinary effects of this terrible earthquake, which extended over a space of not less than four millions of square miles! Of the enormous sensation it produced over all Europe, as well as of the deep impression it made upon his own youthful mind, Goethe, then about six years old, has given us a masterly account in his autobiography (‘Dichtung und Wahrheit’).

‘For the first time,’ says the illustrious poet, ‘the boy’s peace of mind was disturbed by an extraordinary event. On November 1, 1755, the earthquake of Lisbon took place, and spread consternation over a world which had long been accustomed to tranquillity and peace. A large and splendid capital, the seat of wealth and commerce, suddenly falls a prey to the most terrible disaster. The earth shakes, the sea rises, ships are dashed against each other, houses, churches, and towers fall in; the king’s palace is partly engulfed by the waves; the bursting earth seems to vomit flames, for smoke and fire appear everywhere among the ruins. Sixty thousand persons, but a moment before in the enjoyment of a comfortable existence, are swept away, and they are the most fortunate who no longer feel or remember their misery. The flames continue to rage, along with a host of criminals whom the catastrophe has set at liberty. The unfortunate survivors are exposed to robbery, to murder, to every act of violence; and thus on all sides Nature replaces law by the reign of unfettered anarchy. Swifter than the news could travel, the effects of the earthquake had already spread over a wide extent of land; in many places slighter commotions had been felt; mineral springs had suddenly ceased to flow; and all these circumstances increased the general alarm when the terrible details of the catastrophe became known. The pious were now not sparing of moral reflexions, the philosophers of consolations, the clergy of admonitions. Thus the attention of the world was for some time concentrated upon this single topic, and the public, excited by the misfortunes of strangers, began to feel an increasing anxiety for its personal safety, as from all sides intelligence came pouring in of the widely-extended effects of the earthquake. The demon of fear has indeed, perhaps, never spread terror so rapidly and so powerfully over the earth. The boy who heard the subject frequently discussed was not a little perplexed. God, the Creator and Preserver of Heaven and Earth, whom the first article of faith represented as supremely wise and merciful, appeared by no means paternal while thus enveloping the just and the unjust in indiscriminate ruin. It was in vain that his youthful mind endeavoured to shake off these impressions, nor can this be wondered at, as even the wise and the learned did not agree in their opinions on the subject.’