Read the book: «The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 14, No. 400, November 21, 1829»

The Limoeiro, at Lisbon

Locks, bolts, and bars! what have we here?—a view of the Limoeiro, or common jail, at Lisbon, whose horrors, without the fear of Don Miguel in our hearts, we will endeavour to describe, though lightly—merely in outline,—since nothing can be more disagreeable than the filling in.

For this purpose we might quote ourselves, i.e. one of our correspondents,¹ or a host of travellers and residents in the Portuguese capital; but we give preference to Mr. W. Young, who has borne much of the hard fare of the prison, and can accordingly speak more fully of its accommodations and privations. Mr. Young is an Englishman, who married a Portuguese lady in Leiria, and resided for several years in that town. He was arrested in May, 1828, on suspicion of disaffection towards Don Miguel's government: nothing appears to have been proved against him, and after having suffered much disagreeable treatment in different jails in Leiria and Lisbon, he was discharged in the following September, on condition of leaving the country. He returned to England, and lost no time in publishing a volume entitled "Portugal in 1828;" with "A Narrative of the Author's Residence there and of his persecution and confinement as a state prisoner."

The prison, says Mr. Young, stands on the highest ground in St. George's Castle, and is the first building on the south side toward the Tagus. Near the entrance it is divided internally as follows below:—Saletta (the small hall;) Salla Livre (free hall,) so called, because visiters are allowed to go in to see their friends, except when the jailer or intendant orders otherwise; Salla Fechado (the hall shut,) so called, because no communication is allowed with the prisoners in that hall; Enchovia (the common prison,) where thieves, murderers, and vagabonds of every description are confined. This last receptacle is a horrid place; and is often made use of as a punishment for prisoners from other parts of the gaol. Hither they are sent when they commit any offence, for as many days as the jailer may think proper, and are often put in irons during that time.

Besides these different prisons on the ground floor, there are eight dungeons in a line, all nearly alike in shape and size; but some are superior to others as to light and air: and in proportion to the degree they wish to annoy the unfortunate victim, so are these dungeons used. A few dollars never fail to procure a better light and air when properly applied.

Three of these dungeons are about six feet higher than the other five. There is a corridor in the front of them, which is always shut up when any one is confined in them, so that no one can ever approach the door of a dungeon. And to make this a matter of certainty, whenever the jailer or officers of the prison carry prisoners their food, they lock the door of the corridor before they open that of the dungeon.

The first of the lower five of these dungeons is in the passage leading from, the Salla Livre, and next door to the privy of the prison; so that it is never used as a secret dungeon. The lower four are enclosed as those above, and are much darker than that in the passage. This latter is claimed by the book-keeper as his property, and I hired it of him to sleep in, and to be alone when I wished to be so.

The dungeons are all bomb proof, and over them is a terrace thickly formed of brick and stone; still I could distinctly hear the sentry walking over my head when all was quiet at night.

The walls of these cells are about six feet thick, with bars inside and out; the bars in the windows are three inches square, making twelve inches in circumference, and being crossed they form squares of about eight inches; the windows differ very much in size, some not being half so large as others.

Besides these double bars, there is a shutter immensely strong and close, so that when shut, light is totally excluded; the iron door has a strong bolt and lock, and outside of this there is a strong wooden door; in the front of the windows, and about six feet from them, there is a high wall; so that in the best of these dungeons, there is only a reflected light.

These are all the prisons on the ground floor, and when full (which they too often are) the wretched prisoners are forced to lie at night in two rows, with their feet to the wall, and their heads to the middle of the room; this position they adopt on account of the cold and damp of the stone walls; they touch each other, and the floor is completely covered. Nay, at times, so full is the gaol, that they are obliged to lie on the corridors, and even on the steps.

The Saletta will hold forty prisoners, the Salla Livre more than sixty, the Salla Fechado one hundred, and the Enchovia, near one hundred and forty. When one prison becomes too full, they remove some of the victims to another, or send them to the forts, or on board the ships in the river.

The first floor is divided into two parts, officers' rooms, and the Sallao, (saloon or large hall.) This hall will hold about 150 persons, when full. Besides the Sallao and officers' rooms on the first floor, there is a room set apart for questioning people who are in the dungeons. This room has an entrance from the street, and another through a passage from the dungeons, as well as one from the officers' rooms.

The magistrate and his clerk enter from the street, and no one in the prison sees them. The prisoner is taken up stairs from the dungeon, and the jailer or book-keeper enters from the officers' apartments. Every thing is done in the most secret manner. If they cannot cause the prisoner to commit himself, by confessing to the offence with which he is charged, they send him back again to the dungeon.

The gaol of St. George's has a second floor tier of offices; but that belongs to the governor and jailer; there are no prisoners above the ground and the first floor.

None of the authorities ever inquire whether he has any means of subsistence; there is neither bed blanket, nor even straw, unless the prisoner can buy it, and then he must pay the guards to let it pass to him.

Amongst the many thousands of unfortunate beings who are now confined in Portugal, great numbers of them are without money or any other means of subsistence; and were it not for the charity of people in general, starvation would necessarily ensue.

The only authorities employed about the prison are a jailer, secretary, and eight guards; of the latter three are always on duty; one of them being stationed at the first iron gate at the entrance of the prison, another at the second gate, and a third to attend the interior, each with a bunch of keys in his hand, which serve for nearly all the doors. The guards are relieved every night at nine o'clock, when, the man who is posted at the outer door carries a strong iron rod (see the Engraving) with which he strikes every bar in the windows and gates of the gaol; and if any one of them does not vibrate, or ring, he carefully inspects it to ascertain whether it has been cut with a saw, or corroded by any strong acid. This dismal music lasts an hour. The whole expense of the prison to government does not exceed 16s. per day, and the few officers and guards, when Mr. Young was there, manage upwards of four hundred prisoners. He was confined from June 16, to September 7, and his account of the myriads of bugs, rats, mice, and other vermin is truly disgusting. The reader will however readily credit this report when he has been told of the revolting state of the city itself. Mrs. Baillie, in her recent Letters on Lisbon, says, "for three miles round Lisbon in every direction, you cannot for a moment get clear of the disgusting effluvia that issue from every house." Doctor Southey says "every kind of vermin that exists to punish the nastiness and indolence of man, multiplies in the heat and dirt of Lisbon. In addition to mosquitoes, the scolopendra is not uncommonly found here, and snakes sometimes intrude into the bedchamber. A small species of red ant likewise swarms over every thing sweet, and the Portuguese remedy is to send for the priest to exorcise them." The city is still subject to shocks of earthquake; the state of the police is horrible; street-robbery is common, and every thief is an assassin. The pocket-knife, which the French troops are said to have dreaded more than all the bayonets of either the Spanish or the Portuguese, is here the ready weapon of the assassin; and the Tagus receives many a corpse on which no inquest ever sits. The morals, in fact, of all classes in Lisbon appear to be in a dreadful state.

THE CARD

A TALE OF TRUTH

(For the Mirror.)

 
Young Lady Giddygad, came down
From spending half a year in town,
With cranium full of balls and plays,
Routs, fêtes, and fashionable ways,
Caus'd in her country-town, so quiet,
Unus'd to modish din and riot,
No small confusion and amaze,
"Quite a sensation," is the phrase,
Like that, which puss, or pug, may feel
When rous'd from slumber by your heel,
Or drowsy ass, at rider's knock,
Or–should you term him block;
Quoi qu'il en soit, first, gossips gape,
Then envy, scandalize, and ape!
Quoth Mrs. Thrifty: "Nancy, dear,
My Lady sends out cards I hear,
With, I suppose, 'tis now polite,
Merely 'At Home,' on such a night,
Now child, altho' I dare not say
We can afford to be so gay,
We're as well born as Lady G–
And may be, as well bred as she!
That is, quite in a sober way
So as we've nothing more to pay:
For instance, when folks choose to come,
And I don't choose to be 'At Home,'
I'll have a notice stuck, you know,
On the hall door, to tell them so:
'Twill save our Rachel's legs you see,
And soon the top will copy me!
But, Nancy, d'ye hear, now write
That I'm 'At Home' on Thursday night;
'Tis a good fashion, for 'tis what
Most fashions in this age are not
A saving one: ah, prithee think,
How it saves time, and quills, and ink!"
So, duteous Nancy seiz'd a pen,
To ladies, and to gentlemen
Sent quickly out the cards; as quick
Came one again: "Poh! fiddlestick
An answer, yes?—come, let me see,
My spectacles!" cried Mistress T–
"Hum—Mrs. Thrifty,—Thursday night—'At
Home'—oh malice! fiendish spite,"
(Quoth the good dame in furious ire,
Whilst the card, fed the greedy fire)
"No, never, never, will I strive
To be genteel, as I'm alive,
Beneath my own 'At Home' was cramm'd,
There stay, good madam, and be d—d!"²
 

M.L.B.