On November 1, 1755, Lisbon woke up with the rumble of a devastating earthquake. By the end of the day the city was covered with ashes and rubble, stripped of its magnificent buildings and opulent commerce. What was left? In the words of Alfredo Mesquita: “There was still the Tagus river, blue and bewitching, cloaked in velvet by the crystal clear sky which is studded with stars by night and gilded with sunlight by day. And the noble, melancholic majesty with which the city reclines, its feet bathing in the waters, elegant and regal, on the throne of its seven hills.”
Alfredo Mesquita, Lisboa, Empreza da História de Portugal, Livraria Moderna, 1903.