JORGE Augustin Nicolas Ruiz de Santayana (1863-1952) lived through nine of the most tumultuous decades in world history and in a variety of countries on each side of the Atlantic.

Born in Madrid and educated from 1872 in the US, he taught at Harvard from 1889, and was professor there 1907-12. Most readers will already have recognised him as “George” Santayana, whose most famous saying is the one about those who don’t remember the past being condemned to repeat it.  Interestingly, it was published in volume 1 chapter 12 of The Life of Reason, as early in his long life as 1905, before the World Wars, the Great Depression and the onset of the Cold War.
The corollary is that those who do know their past, and other people’s pasts, can learn from them. This NY Times article below [slightly shortened] about an earthquake long ago is about just that, and in our two weeks in Lisbon and environs in our Jan-Jun 1998 Blundstone Tour of Western Civ we came to appreciate both the Old and the New.
Although Portugal is not quite on the beaten track, a visit, preferably more than a week or two, is highly recommended. For Terry Pratchett fans, a visit to the University of Coimbra is a must, for the Library there is surely the model for the Unseen University’s Library in the Diskworld. And for older readers — or their descendants who’ve heard tell of them —  who remember Hobart’s and Launceston’s trams, there’s a treat in store: a ride on an old carro electrico to at least one of these three destinations —  to the heights of the old town of Alfama on the No 28 tram, to Belem and the monuments of the Navigators (the Portuguese do great monuments) on the 15 or 17, and by the 28 in the opposite direction to the New Orleans style Cemiterio dos Prazeres*, an unusual town-in-miniature where the above-ground tombs mimic the homes of the dearly departed.

November 5, 2005
Op-Ed Contributor
Stirred, Not Shaken
By LIAM M. BROCKEY
Princeton, N.J.

ON Nov. 1, 1755, a powerful earthquake followed by a tidal wave laid low Lisbon, trapping thousands beneath rubble and ruins. To make matters worse, the hundreds of candles that had been lighted in honor of All Saints’ Day at the city’s churches toppled over, starting a fire that lasted for days. This succession of calamities occurred with such rapidity and force that Lisbon, as it had been known to plebeians and philosophes, was no more …

But in little over a decade Lisbon rose spectacularly. Much of the dynamism behind its reconstruction was generated by one man, Sebastião José de Carvalho, the Marquis of Pombal. During the 27-year reign of the distracted dilletante King José I, Pombal was chief minister and de facto head of state. It had taken the Marquis 50 years to reach the summit of power, and the rebuilding of Lisbon was one of his greatest challenges. After all, the city’s destruction required the wholesale re-creation of Portugal’s financial and administrative systems. It demanded a leader with tremendous foresight and the political will to match — not to mention the coercive force to transform his plans into reality. The discarded hulks of the Portuguese Inquisition and the Jesuit order were monuments to the strength of Pombal’s will.

The Marquis had an ambitious reconstruction plan. His goal was to transform Lisbon from a medieval jumble of irregular streets and awkward squares into a model of rational urban planning. Pombal commissioned a team of military engineers, led by an 80-year-old general, Manuel da Maia, to survey the city and oversee its reconstruction.

The new Lisbon would be a monument to the Enlightenment, a living metaphor of effective government. The rhythm of the city’s heart would no longer be maintained by church bells and religious processions, but by the affairs of state. No church was built to command the city’s new focal point. Instead, Pombal organized the government’s ministries around a square that he dedicated to business, the Praça do Comércio. Even the names of the city’s new arteries reflected Pombal’s conviction that Lisbon needed earthly efforts rather than divine assistance to regain its prosperity; the Street of the Crucifix ceded its place of honor to the Street of Gold.

Other avenues saw age-old saintly patrons dismissed in favor of humble tradesmen like leatherworkers and shoemakers. And to ensure that future generations would not have to worry as much about future earthquakes, Pombal insisted on the use of wooden trusses and supports in every new edifice in Lisbon. These gaiolas, or cages, have been on duty for more than two centuries, absorbing the shocks of the odd tremor and ensuring that the legacy of the Marquis stands firm.

This week, even as Americans ponder how to raise one of their own great cities from the aftermath of disaster, Lisbon’s grateful inhabitants marked the 250th anniversary of their city’s devastation. They once again recognized Pombal’s role in its resurrection, echoing the strains of gratitude first heard in the late 19th century when a massive monument was planned to honor him at the junction of five of the city’s boulevards. There, a bronze Marquis still surveys the city, monitoring its pulse and regulating the flow of its lifeblood. Silently acknowledging the tribute to his ambition to see Lisbon arise from the ruins, he peers down in haughty approval at the four concentric circles of traffic that flow eternally at his feet.

Liam M. Brockey teaches European history at Princeton.

More about the Lisbon earthquake: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1755_Lisbon_earthquake

More about the Marquis de Pombal: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marquis_de_Pombal

* our Seven Language Dictionary has “PRAZER to please; m. pleasure, enjoyment”.