On November 1, the Lisbon earthquake occurred, consisting of 500 underground tremors. 50,000 people died; according to other sources, 100,000. The entire city, together with priceless treasures of art and monuments of the Enlightenment era, was destroyed. The destructive force of the earthquake was felt across a vast area, especially in Europe and North Africa. There were victims in Luxembourg and Morocco.
A three-minute shock destroyed the familiar picture of the world. Houses obediently folded like an accordion, sometimes carrying with them to the other world the street on which they stood—burying it and everyone who ran out onto it. But most importantly, Lisbon sank into darkness, truly into Egyptian darkness. The dust raised from the collapsed houses instantly blotted out the sun, which now made itself known only as a dull, pale spot.
The second shock, which followed a few minutes after the first, was already excessive: Lisbon was already in ruins. No war, no siege could, even over years, have done to this great city what nature did in a few minutes. The third shock—the shortest, lasting a minute—did not keep them waiting. At last the earth grew calm.
Whoever could get to their feet did so. Some, swaying, looked around in astonishment. Some, having lost their minds, ran screaming wherever their eyes led them. Bloodied priests in torn clothing walked among the ruins calling on people to repent. From everywhere came groans and cries for help from those buried alive beneath the debris of their own homes.
About an hour and a half after the first shock, a 17-meter tsunami wave struck Lisbon. It destroyed all the ships standing in the harbor and swept countless people into the ocean. The same parts of the city that escaped the tsunami met another fate—fires. For five days Lisbon burned. In the flames perished not only bodies but also paintings by Rubens and Titian, priceless Portuguese maps from the age of geographical discoveries, and the entire Lisbon library, which contained 80,000 rare volumes. When the fires subsided and the dust of destruction settled, the sun once again illuminated what, in the words of one traveler, “was, but is no longer Lisbon.”