The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, Vol. 14, by Various
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THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
VOL 14, NO. 400.] SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 21, 1829. [PRICE 2d.
* * * * *
The Limoeiro, at Lisbon.
[Illustration: 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."
[1] See "Portuguese Prisons," MIRROR, vol. xii, p. 99.
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 16_s_. 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, fetes, 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.
[2] A fact.
* * * * *
MAHOMET THE GREAT AND HIS MISTRESS.
_An Anecdote_.
(_For the Mirror_.)
After the taking of Constantinople by the Turks, in the year 1453,
several captives, distinguished either for their rank or their beauty,
were presented to the victorious Mahomet the Great. Irene, a most
beautiful Greek lady, was one of those unfortunate captives. The emperor
was so delighted with her person, that he dedicated himself wholly to
her embraces, spending day and night in her company, and neglected his
most pressing affairs. His officers, especially the Janissaries, were
extremely exasperated at his conduct; and loudly exclaimed against their
degenerate and _effeminate_ prince, as they were then pleased to call
him. Mustapha Bassa, who had been brought up with the emperor from a
child, presuming upon his great interest, took an opportunity to lay
before his sovereign the bad consequences which would inevitably ensue
should he longer persevere in that unmanly and base course of life.
Mahomet, provoked at the Bassa's insolence, told him that he deserved to
die; but that he would pardon him in consideration of former services.
He then commanded him to assemble all the principal officers and
captains in the great hall of his palace the next day, to attend his
royal pleasure. Mustapha did as he was directed; and the next day the
sultan understanding that the Bassas and other officers awaited him,
entered the hall, with the charming Greek, who was delicately dressed
and adorned. Looking sternly around him, the Sultan demanded, _which of
them_, _possessing so fair an object_, _could be contented to relinquish
it_? Being dazzled with the Christian's beauty, they unanimously
answered, that they highly commended his happy choice, and censured
themselves for having found fault with so much worth. The emperor
replied, that he would presently show them how much they had been
deceived in him, for that no earthly pleasure should so far bereave him
of his senses, or blind his understanding, as to make him forget his
duty in the high calling wherein he was placed. So saying, he caught
Irene by the hair of her head, which he instantly severed from her body
with his scimitar.
G.W.N.
* * * * *
Select Biography.
* * * * *
JUVENILE POETESS.
MEMOIR OF LUCRETIA DAVIDSON,
_Who died at Plattsburgh, N.Y., August 27, 1825, aged sixteen years and
eleven months_.
[We hardly know how to give our readers an idea of the intense interest
which this biographical sketch has excited in our mind; but we are
persuaded they will thank us for adopting it in our columns. The details
are somewhat abridged from No. LXXXII. of the _Quarterly Review_, (just
published), where they appear in the first article, headed "Amir Khan,
and other Poems: the remains of Lucretia Maria Davidson," &c., published
at New York, in the present year. Prefixed to these "remains" is a
biographical sketch, which forms the basis of the present memoir, and
from the Poems are selected the few specimens with which it is
illustrated.--ED.]
Lucretia Maria Davidson was born September 27, 1808, at Plattsburgh, on
Lake Champlain. She was the second daughter of Dr. Oliver Davidson, and
Magaret his wife. Her parents were in straitened circumstances, and
it was necessary, from an early age, that much of her time should be
devoted to domestic employments: for these she had no inclination, but
she performed them with that alacrity which always accompanies good
will; and, when her work was done, retired to enjoy those intellectual
and imaginative, pursuits in which her whole heart was engaged. This
predilection for studious retirement she is said to have manifested at
the early age of four years. Reports, and even recollections of this
kind, are to be received, the one with some distrust, the other with
some allowance; but when that allowance is made, the genius of this
child still appears to have been as precocious as it was extraordinary.
Instead of playing with her schoolmates, she generally got to some
secluded place, with her little books, and with pen, ink, and paper;
and the consumption which she made of paper was such as to excite the
curiosity of her parents, from whom she kept secret the use to which she
applied it. If any one came upon her retirement, she would conceal or
hastily destroy what she was employed upon; and, instead of satisfying
the inquiries of her father and mother, replied to them only by tears.
The mother, at length, when searching for something in a dark and
unfrequented closet, found a considerable number of little books, made
of this writing-paper, and filled with rude drawings, and with strange
and apparently illegible characters, which, however, were at once seen
to be the child's work. Upon closer inspection, the characters were
found to consist of the printed alphabet; some of the letters being
formed backwards, some sideways, and there being no spaces between the
words. These writings were deciphered, not without much difficulty; and
it then appeared that they consisted of regular verses, generally in
explanation of a rude drawing, sketched on the opposite page. When
she found that her treasures had been discovered, she was greatly
distressed, and could not be pacified till they were restored; and as
soon as they were in her possession, she took the first opportunity of
secretly burning them.
These books having thus been destroyed, the earliest remaining specimen
of her verse is an epitaph, composed in her ninth year, upon an
unfledged robin, killed in the attempt at rearing it. When she was
eleven years of age, her father took her to see the decorations of a
room in which Washington's birthday was to be celebrated. Neither the
novelty nor the gaiety of what she saw attracted her attention; she
thought of Washington alone, whose life she had read, and for whom she
entertained the proper feelings of an American; and as soon as she
returned home, she took paper, sketched a funeral urn, and wrote under
it a few stanzas, which were shown to her friends. Common as the talent
of versifying is, any early manifestation of it will always be regarded
as extraordinary by those who possess it not themselves; and these
verses, though no otherwise remarkable, were deemed so surprising for
a child of her age, that an aunt of hers could not believe they were
original, and hinted that they might have been copied. The child wept
at this suspicion, as if her heart would break; but as soon as she
recovered from that fit of indignant grief, she indited a remonstrance
to her aunt, in verse, which put an end to such incredulity.
We are told that, before she was twelve years of age, she had read most
of the standard English poets--a vague term, excluding, no doubt, much
that is of real worth, and including more that is worth little or
nothing, and yet implying a wholesome course of reading for such a mind.
Much history she had also read, both sacred and profane; "the whole
of Shakspeare's, Kotzebue's, and Goldsmith's dramatic works;" (oddly
consorted names!) "and many of the popular novels and romances of the
day:" of the latter, she threw aside at once those which at first sight
appeared worthless. This girl is said to have observed every thing:
"frequently she has been known to watch the storm, and the retiring
clouds, and the rainbow, and the setting sun, for hours."
An English reader is not prepared to hear of distress arising from
straitened circumstances in America--the land of promise, where there is
room enough for all, and employment for every body. Yet even in that new
country, man, it appears, is born not only to those ills which flesh is
heir to, but to those which are entailed upon him by the institutions of
society. Lucretia's mother was confined by illness to her room and bed
for many months; and this child, then about twelve years old, instead
of profiting under her mother's care, had in a certain degree to supply
her place in the business of the family, and to attend, which she did
dutifully and devotedly, to her sick bed. At this time, a gentleman who
had heard much of her verses, and expressed a wish to see some of them,
was so much gratified on perusing them, that he sent her a complimentary
note, enclosing a bank-bill for twenty dollars. The girl's first joyful
thought was that she had now the means, which she had so often longed
for, of increasing her little stock of books; but, looking towards the
sick bed, tears came in her eyes, and she instantly put the bill into
her father's hands, saying, "Take it, father; it will buy many comforts
for mother; I can do without the books."
There were friends, as they are called, who remonstrated with her
parents on the course they were pursuing in her education, and advised
that she should be deprived of books, pen, ink, and paper, and
rigorously confined to domestic concerns. Her parents loved her both
too wisely and too well to be guided by such counsellors, and they
anxiously kept the advice secret from Lucretia, lest it should wound her
feelings--perhaps, also, lest it should give her, as it properly might,
a rooted dislike to these misjudging and unfeeling persons. But she
discovered it by accident, and without declaring any such intention,
she gave up her pen and her books, and applied herself exclusively to
household business, for several months, till her body as well as her
spirits failed. She became emaciated, her countenance bore marks of deep
dejection, and often, while actively employed in domestic duties, she
could neither restrain nor conceal her tears. The mother seems to have
been slower in perceiving this than she would have been had it not been
for her own state of confinement; she noticed it at length, and said,
"Lucretia, it is a long time since you have written any thing." The girl
then burst into tears, and replied, "O mother, I have given that up long
ago." "But why?" said her mother. After much emotion, she answered,
"I am convinced from what my friends have said, and from what I see,
that I have done wrong in pursuing the course I have. I well know the
circumstances of the family are such, that it requires the united
efforts of every member to sustain it; and since my eldest sister is now
gone, it becomes my duty to do every thing in my power to lighten the
cares of my parents." On this occasion, Mrs. Davidson acted with equal
discretion and tenderness; she advised her to take a middle course,
neither to forsake her favourite pursuits, nor devote herself to them,
but use them in that wholesome alternation with the every day business
of the world, which is alike salutary for the body and the mind. She
therefore occasionally resumed her pen, and seemed comparatively happy.
How the encouragement which she received operated may be seen in some
lines, not otherwise worthy of preservation than for the purpose of
showing how the promises of reward affect a mind like hers. They were
written in her thirteenth year.
Whene'er the muse pleases to grace my dull page,
At the sight of _reward_, she flies off in a rage;
Prayers, threats, and intreaties I frequently try,
But she leaves me to scribble, to fret, and to sigh
She torments me each moment, and bids me go write,
And when I obey her she laughs at the sight;
The rhyme will not jingle, the verse has no sense,
And against all her insults I have no defence.
I advise all my friends who wish me to write,
To keep their rewards and their gifts from my sight,
So that jealous Miss Muse won't be wounded in pride,
Nor Pegasus rear till I've taken my ride.
Let not the hasty reader conclude from these rhymes that Lucretia was
only what any child of early cleverness might be made by forcing and
injudicious admiration. In our own language, except in the cases of
Chatterton and Kirke White, we can call to mind no instance of so early,
so ardent, and so fatal a pursuit of intellectual advancement.
"She composed with great rapidity; as fast as most persons usually copy.
There are several instances of four or five pieces on different
subjects, and containing three or four stanzas each, written on the
same day. Her thoughts flowed so rapidly, that she often expressed the
wish that she had two pair of hands, that she might employ them to
transcribe. When 'in the vein,' she would write standing, and be wholly
abstracted from the company present and their conversation. But if
composing a piece of some length, she wished to be entirely alone; she
shut herself into her room, darkened the windows, and in summer placed
her Aeolian harp in the window:" (thus by artificial excitement, feeding
the fire that consumed her.) "In those pieces on which she bestowed more
than ordinary pains, she was very secret; and if they were, by any
accident, discovered in their unfinished state, she seldom completed
them, and often destroyed them. She cared little for any of her works
after they were completed: some, indeed, she preserved with care for
future correction, but a great proportion she destroyed: very many that
are preserved, were rescued from the flames by her mother. Of a complete
poem, in five cantos, called 'Rodri,' and composed when she was thirteen
years of age, a single canto, and part of another, are all that are
saved from a destruction which she supposed had obliterated every
vestige of it."
She was often in danger, when walking, from carriages, &c., in
consequence of her absence of mind. When engaged in a poem of some
length, she has often forgotten her meals. A single incident,
illustrating this trait in her character, is worth relating:--She went
out early one morning to visit a neighbour, promising to be at home to
dinner. The neighbour being absent, she requested to be shown into the
library. There she became so absorbed in her book, standing, with her
bonnet unremoved, that the darkness of the coming night first reminded
her she had forgotten her meals, and expended the entire day in reading.