The Story of Malta

As regards this strong and compact rope cannon just spoken of, so far as we know it is unique, and would seem to belong to an earlier period than is claimed for it. Probably it was brought by the Knights from Rhodes. Few people are aware how strongly tarred rope can be bound together by seamen and others accustomed to manipulate it. When thoroughly worked into shape, it becomes almost as solid as iron.

The rusty old lances, broken spears, and dimmed sword-blades hanging beside tattered battle-flags bearing bloody marks of the fierce contests in which they took part, are silent but suggestive tokens of the Crusades, recalling the names of Saladin and Cœur de Lion, when Christians and Mohammedans were arrayed in bitter sectarian warfare against each other upon the plains of Palestine, – romantic and historic days rendered thrice familiar to us by the captivating pen of Scott. Here we pause for a moment before the trumpet which sounded the retreat from Rhodes. These instruments close beside it are the bâtons of office which were used on state occasions by Aliofio Wignacourt and La Vallette. Those curious in such matters find the place full of interest while carefully examining these warlike appurtenances, which as a whole form a collection unequaled in its line by any armory in Europe. There are many interesting relics of the famous Order of the Knights in this apartment, besides those of the battlefield. The hall is a veritable museum, containing many illuminated books, manuscripts, sacred emblems, ancient Phœnician, Arabic, and Maltese coins, with curious church paraphernalia which were in constant use centuries ago, each article forming a page, as it were, in the history of those Knights of the church. Among the treasures preserved in the armory was the costly and artistic sword given to the Grand Master, La Vallette, by Philip II. of Spain. The golden hilt was set with large diamonds of purest water, and the workmanship was of exquisite finish. This sword Bonaparte stole and appropriated to his private use, wearing it ostentatiously when he departed from Malta on his way to Egypt, – a mean and petty sort of thieving which this man constantly practiced.

Among other valued curiosities, one sees in a glass case the deed of perpetual sovereignty granted to the Order of St. John by Charles V., dated March, 1530. Nothing upon earth endures for long. The formal deed of gift is here, but the title is extinct, and so is the order of the Chevaliers of St. John.

The English government have stored in the palace a large collection of firearms, including some twenty thousand muskets, which were manufactured in the Tower of London. Such have been the improvements made in this weapon, however, that these guns would hardly be considered suitable arms with which to furnish a body of infantry in time of war. The old smooth-bore, muzzle-loading firearm is now entirely obsolete. Even the African tribes, who have so lately fought the French in Dahomey, were supplied with, and used effectively, breech-loading rifles.

It appears, as we have felt it our duty to make plain, that these church-robed warriors were very human in their instincts, and by no means exempt from the average sins that flesh is heir to. Some outspoken historical writers have recorded acts of debauchery perpetrated by them which we should certainly hesitate to reprint. All this, too, notwithstanding their pretended sanctity and discipleship, together with the stringency of their priestly vows. We may be sure that there are no saints on this mundane sphere, and that those who pretend to the greatest degree of sanctity are mostly those who possess the least. Experience never fails to furnish proof of this. Our most cherished idols have feet of clay. Nothing known to civilization is more debasing to morality, truthfulness, honor, and chivalrous manhood than the holding of slaves. The Knights of St. John were open and undisguised slave traders, – slave traders in the fullest sense of the term, reaping therefrom not alone constant additions to their material wealth, but also all the miserable consequences contingent upon so vile a connection. This was perhaps the greatest promoter of the sensuality, gluttony, and gambling propensities which prevailed to such a demoralizing and shameful extent among the members of the brotherhood.

These famous champions of the church had also their schisms, their petty jealousies and quarrels, like all the rest of the world. There were in the code of laws, to which they solemnly subscribed, stringent rules against premeditated dueling, but these were easily and frequently evaded. Fatal infractions often occurred, the outcome of quarrels started over the gaming-table or the wine-cup. Punishment was somehow escaped. The law was plain enough, but the misdeed seems always to have been condoned. Men who live by the sword are very liable to die by it. Deaths arising from personal conflicts were by no means rare among this priestly fraternity. If a Knight was challenged by one of his brotherhood for what was deemed to be good and sufficient cause, and did not promptly respond, no matter why, he was denounced among the fraternity as a coward, and was punished by social ostracism. The inconsistency of such a state of affairs, existing in a pretended religious community, will at once suggest itself to the reader. The profession of Christianity did very little to separate the armed priest from the brute. This fact was not only illustrated in this dueling propensity, but in the recklessness of their daily habits. Human life was held at the lowest possible estimate, and its sacrifice for trivial causes was taken little if any notice of by those in authority. Men who make a profession of arms are very liable to resort to weapons of warfare, rather than to reason, in the settlement of any question which may arise among them.

There is a narrow street which runs the whole length of the city, parallel with the Strada Reale, which was celebrated as the dueling ground of the Knights. The reason for this selection was because a combat in this circumscribed passageway might be looked upon in the light of a casual encounter, or an accidental collision. This was a very weak deduction, but it appears to have sufficed for the purpose. The fact was, that a challenge which had passed between two Knights, no matter what the circumstances were, could not be ignored by them, or a personal encounter avoided, any more than such an occurrence could be disregarded among the swashbucklers of Dumas's musketeers. The instinct of the sword, so to speak, was stronger with these professed religionists than was any other recognized principle. The combatants were bound, however, by some recognized palliating rules: for instance, to put up their swords upon the interference of a brother Knight, an officiating priest, or a woman, which may be interpreted as an attempt to draw a line of prevention about this barbaric custom of settling private disputes with the sword.

When a fatal conflict occurred on the Strada Stretta, a cross painted or cut upon the house front nearest to the spot ever after indicated the event. There used to be a long line of these significant signs upon this thoroughfare, but nearly all are obliterated, some by design and others by the wear of time. The records of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries teem with entries of stabbing, wounding, and killing among the Knights, the result of encounters upon the Strada Stretta. When there was a common enemy to encounter, and upon whom to expend their surplus energy, the Knights were as one man, living together in comparative harmony, but in days of peace they were only too ready to turn their weapons against each other in heated quarrels.

Washington Irving relates a veritable ghost story concerning a fatal encounter which took place in this notorious Strada Stretta, as related to him by an old Knight who once lived upon the island of Malta, and whom he met somewhere in Italy. The basis of the story was the fact that two Knights of the Order of St. John, one of Spain and one of France, met and fought a duel here on a certain Good Friday, the latter losing his life in the conflict. There was always more or less active rivalry existing between the French and Spanish divisions of the brotherhood. In the instance referred to there was a woman in the case, for the Knights were as famous for their gallantry towards the ladies as for prowess in battle. In times of peace they occupied their leisure, not with any intellectual resort, – alas! that the truth must be told, few of them, comparatively speaking, could read and write, – but nearly all seem to have been experts at domestic intrigue and gambling, at wine-bibbing and dueling. Their only study was the effective handling of warlike weapons. The fencing-master, not the schoolmaster, was constantly "abroad."

The story, which Irving tells at considerable length, represents the victor in the duel referred to as having suffered infinite remorse for his murderous act, and that he was pursued night and day by a terrible phantom visible only to himself. In vain was the severest self-imposed penance, in vain the confessional, in vain his prayerful regrets. He seemed doomed as a just punishment to endure a purgatory upon earth. The great onus of the whole affair, however, as made to appear in the narrative, was not the sacrifice of a human life under such circumstances, but that the act should have been committed on Good Friday!

CHAPTER XI

The Famous Church of St. John. – By What Means it was Decorated. – Grand Mosaic Floor. – Roman Catholic Ceremonials. – Remarkable Relics. – Chapels of the Languages. – A Devout Artist. – Church Treasures. – Thieving French Soldiers. – Poetical Justice. – The Hateful Inquisition. – Churches of Valletta. – A Forlorn Hope. – Heroic Conduct. – A Maltese Pantheon. – A Rival Dome to St. Paul's, London. – Some Fine Paintings.

After the Grand Palace of the Knights, described in the last chapter, the next place of interest to a stranger in Malta is the church of St. John, which stands upon an open square, shaded by graceful trees, opposite the head of the Strada Santa Lucia. It is a little over three centuries old, having been built by the order about the year 1576, at great cost. The members of the fraternity vied with each other in its elaborate adornment, and lavished untold sums of gold for this purpose. Robbery upon the high seas, predatory invasions of unprotected coast towns, and the sale into slavery of the captives – men, women, and children – whom they thus got possession of, served to keep the purses of the Knights full, and enabled them to indulge their wildest fancy to its full extent. Perhaps the expenditure of their ill-gotten wealth in this direction was the least harmful of all the ways in which it was squandered. The piratical manner in which they procured the means for the costly adornment of the church of St. John did not militate against the acceptability of the same, on the part of the priesthood immediately attached to the cathedral. What a satire upon the "holy" character of this Romish temple, this church of St. John! "The church," says Goethe, "has a good stomach; has never known a surfeit; the church alone can digest such ill-gotten wealth." In Mexico, Sicily, and Spain the banditti go to the priests when contemplating murderous crimes, and pay to be shrived of their sins before committing them, promising also to hand over to the church treasury a liberal portion of the proceeds of their robberies!

But let us return to our description of this marvelously decorated church of Valletta.

Below the cross which forms the apex of the front is a statue of the Saviour, a masterpiece of art from the hand of Algardi, a famous Bolognese sculptor. There are two heavy square towers, containing numerous bells, whose metallic tongues are perfectly deafening on all festal occasions, giving utterance at early morning hours, intended by nature for sleep, and continuing all day long, the dread of unaccustomed ears. They are not rung in the manner commonly adopted elsewhere, and after what would seem to be the most legitimate fashion, but are beaten with a hammer, in the stout hands of a native islander. In Japan they ring their ponderous, low-hung bells, placed in front of the temples, with a battering-ram of timber, driven by many hands, which, though it sounds like veritable thunder, is no more malicious than the Maltese sledge-hammer method.

The clock of this church has three faces, showing the current hour, the day of the week, and the day of the month. It is a curious, though not remarkable, piece of work, interesting, however, as being the product of a native Maltese mechanic. This edifice was intended to be the Westminster Abbey of the order, where the mortal remains of its members should find a lasting and monumental sepulchre. The architect, Girolamo Cassan, was a famous artist of his day, who laid out and designed the city of Valletta as a whole, with its many palaces, under the immediate direction of the Grand Master whose name it bears.

As we draw aside the heavy matting which always hangs before the entrance to the church, it is impossible not to be impressed by the magnificence which is everywhere displayed.

An oppressive odor of floating incense at first salutes the senses, as is the case in all Roman Catholic churches; but a few moments serve to accustom one to the musty, unventilated place. It does not seem to occur to the custodians of these edifices that such a place of public assemblage requires change of atmosphere just as much as a domestic residence. Architecturally, the church of St. John has no pretension whatever, either inside or out, though its proportions are very grand. The mosaic pavement is doubtless the most perfect specimen of the kind in existence, – a mosaic of tombs, and an example of sepulchral magnificence. The whole effect is rich beyond description, from pavement to roof. Yet there is, strange as it may seem, a cold emptiness, not to say gloom, which overcomes the stranger amid all this plethora of furnishing and fresco. The detail is too infinite to be taken in as a whole. Only a general impression of the place is retained by the average visitor. To the thoughtful and unprejudiced it must surely prove to be more pagan than Christian.

Where we stand upon its tessellated floor, each square yard is sacred to the memory of some departed Knight; the marbles bearing their names are also emblazoned with their arms. One can readily imagine the many festive occasions, elaborate and pompous ceremonials, military, civic, and religious, which have taken place within these walls while the Knights were at the acme of their power. The chairs of state were then filled with gaudily dressed officials. Priests, in glittering robes, bearing gold and silver mitres, filed hither and thither in long processions, accompanied by banners, and preceded by youths in spotless white, who swung burning and pungent incense in silver vases, while the ponderous organ breathed forth its solemn, reverberatory notes. The tapestried alcoves were brilliant with numberless candles, and the high altar was ablaze with burning wax, while the figures in the sacred paintings must have looked down from their canvases with weird and cynical expression. No doubt these church ceremonials were solemn and impressive, where one and all assumed a virtue, if they had it not. Is it surprising that this cunningly devised and gaudy display, these elaborate performances, should be awe-inspiring to an ignorant and superstitious people? One can even conceive that the actors themselves, in such a theatrical show, having been brought up in the Roman Catholic faith, may believe that they, poor, finite creatures, individually glorify the great and good God by this hollow mummery.

To-day, only a score of nun-like Maltese women, clad in black, kneel here and there before some favorite saint. If the stranger catches a glance of their dark eyes from behind the screening faldetta, he finds them more redolent of earth than of heaven, – dreamy, persuading eyes, glancing from beneath downcast lids, and shaded by long lashes. Only two male visitors are present, – the author and his guide, while a single priest, robed in a velvet surplice, goes through a pantomime of kneeling and crossing himself in front of the high altar, with his back toward the scanty audience. This man's voice is so low, if he speaks at all, that the solemn silence of the place is quite unbroken. If he could be heard, no worshiper of the class who come hither would understand the Latin tongue in which he is supposed to read the service.

We can remember but two other churches of its class which equal this of St. John in tawdry, yet costly and useless decorations, namely, those of Burgos and Toledo, in Spain. It was the former church that was considered so exquisite, and delicately artistic in every appointment, that Charles V. said it ought to be placed under glass. The Toledo cathedral rivals any Romish church we have visited, in its riches of gold, silver, precious stones, and art treasures. It contains also more stained glass windows than any other ever built, with the possible exception of St. Peter's. Statues and pictures abound in the church of St. John; gold and silver accessories, added to the original expense of the carved lapis lazuli, render the high altar, as a whole, of great aggregate cost. The railing in front is composed of solid silver. The keys of Jerusalem, Acre, and Rhodes, esteemed of priceless value as memorials, are deposited beneath the high altar, – relics of the early possessions and the old chivalrous days of these warriors of the cross. Just behind the altar hangs a famous painting of the Beheading of St. John, by Caravaggio, painted in 1609. There is also an elaborate group, in marble, representing the Baptism of Christ. It is the work of Maltese artists of the seventeenth century, forming a remarkable monument of native talent.

Before the altar of this Valletta church, on the right and left, richly upholstered chairs are placed, raised above the level of the floor, and draped with canopies of rich crimson velvet. These chairs are designed for the bishop and the representative of the sovereign power in Malta. They are occupied only on state occasions. Over the last mentioned is placed the British coat of arms. In the spacious sacristy are a score or more of fine old paintings variously ascribed to great masters. One or two of these are very old, and were brought by the Knights from Rhodes when they evacuated the island.

The most celebrated relic of this Maltese cathedral was the reputed right hand of St. John the Baptist, brought originally from Antioch to Constantinople by the Emperor Justinian, who, in the intensity of his veneration, built a church expressly for its preservation. After the capture of Constantinople by the Turks, the Sultan Bajazet gave it to the Grand Master D'Aubusson at Rhodes, whence it was brought to Malta by L'Isle Adam. The hand was incased in a glove of wrought gold covered with precious stones, among which was a large diamond of unusual value. This gem, Bonaparte, as usual, stole and placed upon his own hand. "You may keep the carrion," said the French general flippantly, as he handed the relic to the Grand Master, minus the ring. It was a curious act of destiny that the Corsican scourge should have carved his name upon this rocky island of Malta, – this granite page of history.

When Hompesch treacherously and in the most cowardly manner surrendered the Maltese group to the French, he carried the hand of St. John away with him, and afterward presented it to Paul I., Emperor of Russia, when he was chosen Grand Master of the order, under peculiar circumstances. This singular relic is still preserved in the Winter Palace at St. Petersburg.

The tapestries in the church of St. John are known to have cost originally thirty thousand dollars, and were from the famous manufactory of De Vas Frères of Brussels, for whose looms Rubens did not disdain to work. On the way to Malta they were captured by a Moorish corsair, and ransomed by the payment of their full value in gold. Thus they cost the church just sixty thousand dollars.

Among other relics which are shown to the visitor is a thorn from the crown worn by Christ, a fragment of the infant Jesus' cradle, one of the stones which slew St. Stephen, the foot of Lazarus, some bones of St. Thomas of Canterbury, and so on.

On either side of the nave of the church of St. John are dome-crowned chapels, each having its special altar elaborately ornamented with paintings of more or less merit, together with bronze and marble statues. These chapels were devoted to the several divisions of the Knights, – the different languages, comprising those of France, Provence, Auvergne, Aragon, Castile, Italy, Germany, and Anglo-Bavaria, eight in all. In the French chapel is a sarcophagus in memory of the Duke de Beaujolais, brother of Louis Philippe, who died of consumption at Malta. This tomb is ornamented with a full-length recumbent statue of the youthful prince, and is a fine work of art. From this chapel there are marble steps leading to the crypt in which are the tombs of twelve of the Grand Masters, including those of L'Isle Adam, first Grand Master in Malta, and his successor, La Vallette. The sarcophagi in this place are elaborate works of more than ordinary merit, and are said to have come from Florence, Milan, and Rome. The sepulchre of La Vallette interested us most, as does the life of this remarkable soldier, commander, and prelate. The pedestal is of bronze, upon which the Grand Master is represented as reclining in the full armor of a Knight of the order which he had served so long and so faithfully. At the foot of this tomb lies the body of Oliver Starkey, La Vallette's trusted secretary, who, had he possessed the ambition, might have aspired to almost any post of honor within the gift of the brotherhood. In the silence of this sepulchral chamber, one naturally falls to musing upon the vanities of life and the stern reality of the end. The tomb is the great leveler; the emperor and his humblest subject must alike crumble to dust.

As we ascend once more to the nave of the church, the brain becomes very busy with thoughts suggested by the surroundings, where there is such an incongruous blending of religious with warlike associations. Everything speaks of the brave but heedless Knights, and their common pride in and devotion to this ostentatious temple.

Besides the chapels which were assigned to the several languages of the order in this church of St. John, here called the cathedral, each division had also some church in the city devoted entirely to its service. Thus to the Knights of Provence belonged the church of Santa Barbara, in the Strada Reale; that of Italy possessed the church of Santa Catarina, in the Strada Mercanti; the church of Our Lady of Pilar, in the Strada Ponente, belonged to the language of Castile and Portugal, the other divisions being similarly supplied with separate churches.

We have several times referred to the divisions of the Knights; this should perhaps be made clearer by a few words. In consequence of the admission to their ranks of kings, princes, and nobles from all parts of Christendom and speaking various tongues, they divided themselves into what was called "the eight languages," each, as we have shown, having its special chapel and palace. In the Grand Master, however, who was nearly always an accomplished linguist, rested supreme power over each and all. No vow which the members of the fraternity took upon themselves was deemed more binding than that of implicit obedience to the presiding head of the order. The importance of discipline was thoroughly recognized, and there was no possibility of appeal from a decision of the Grand Master. By no other means could so heterogeneous an assembly of men from different nations be controlled, especially when consisting of individuals whose sense of moral rectitude was of the feeblest character, and whose principal occupation was that of arms.

We were speaking more particularly of the cathedral of St. John, in describing which many pages might be easily if not profitably filled.

The roof of the edifice, which is divided into zones, is superbly painted in elaborate designs, representing hundreds of figures of such proportions as to appear from the floor to be of life-size. The subjects are mainly Scriptural themes, especially relating to the life of St. John, painted in oil laid on the stone, which the artist prepared by a peculiar process devised for this purpose. At the corners of each of the arches are a score of figures representing martyrs and heroes, illustrative of the history of the knightly order. The real genius displayed in the designs could only be born of one inspired by a true love of art, together with a devoutly religious spirit. The excellence of the designs and the naturalness of the army of figures challenge both surprise and admiration. They are so artistically done that it is difficult not to believe them to be in bas-relief. The whole was the patient work of one prolific artist, Mattia Preti, an accomplished and enthusiastic Calabrian, who spent forty years of his life in the special adornment of the church of St. John, refusing, it is said, all pecuniary remuneration for the same. He was quite content to live frugally, exercising strict self-denial, that he might thus exemplify his art and his religious devotion. Preti studied the rudiments of his chosen calling with his brother, who was director of the Academy of St. Luke, at Rome, and brought with him to Malta not only ability and experience, but a devout love of art for art's sake. His body lies buried before the entrance to the vestry, the artist having died in 1739, well advanced in years, and leaving behind him, in Malta, a vast number of examples of his ability, which form an appropriate monument to his memory. As evidence of his indefatigable industry, it should be mentioned that in the cathedral of Città Vecchia in the centre of the island, other specimens of Mattia Preti's work in the same line of church adornment may be seen, together with some fine individual pieces of composition.