The Story of Malta

The French, who respected neither religious nor charitable institutions, even robbing the hospitals, and stealing right and left wherever they appeared under Bonaparte, – the Alaric of his age, – plundered the Monte di Pietà of Valletta, purloining therefrom about one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, in small securities, left on deposit as collaterals by the poor men and women of the capital! This ruined the institution temporarily; and it was compelled, for the first time in about three centuries, to close its doors. Such an unfortunate experience served to confirm many of the ignorant Maltese in the Arab passion for burying their money in the earth for safekeeping. This is a practice which they have not wholly outlived, even at the present time, showing the tenacity with which a people will adhere to the customs of their ancestors. After the much-hated French were driven out of the island, a few liberal men, who possessed the means, capitalized the Monte di Pietà at once, and by energetic and honest effort it steadily regained its former position, proving itself to be indeed a public charity. It benefits all classes, makes no distinctions, and loans as high as three thousand dollars to one individual.

There are two Baraccas or parterres in connection with the line of fortifications surrounding Valletta, which form favorite promenades of the citizens. They are known as the Old and the New Baraccas, from either of which fine and comprehensive views may be enjoyed. The latter is preferable on account of the great extent of land and sea which it commands, as well as for its beautiful garden. A study of the topography of Malta from this point will enable the visitor to bring away with him, impressed upon the tablets of his memory, a truthful map of the group. Experience soon teaches the traveler to adopt this expedient when he finds himself in any new locality which admits of so doing, until he finally possesses many photographic pictures stored within his brain, forming delightful reminiscences of which no misfortune can rob him.

One of the most charming pictures which lives in the author's mind is that of a bird's-eye view enjoyed from a lofty standpoint in the Maltese capital, on a beautifully clear afternoon in early spring. The larger portion of the yellow-hued city lay far below, with its myriads of cream-colored, flat-roofed houses, and its thrifty, business-like boulevard; while its many blooming fruit trees afforded warm bits of color here and there. The Strada Reale recalled the Via Victor Emanuel as seen from the top of the Milan cathedral. Both harbors of Valletta, with their numerous shipping and stately warehouses, were in view. Half a dozen iron-clads with their grim, threatening batteries formed a prominent feature. The broad Mediterranean stretched far away to the horizon, dotted at intervals by the picturesque maritime rig of these waters, its placid surface now serene and quiet, radiating the afternoon light like liquid sapphire. A fleet of gaudily emblazoned native boats shot hither and thither over the near surface of the bay. Large, broad-winged sea-gulls sailed lazily through the air, dipping now and then into the water, and rising again upon outspread pinions of stainless purity, dazzling as new-fallen snow. One or two long, irregular lines of dark smoke, floating among the distant clouds, pointed out the course of the big continental steamers bound east or west. Far away to the northward, the conical outline of grand old Mount Ætna, king of volcanoes, was faintly limned upon the sky which hung over the Sicilian coast.

How soft and summer-like was the still atmosphere, how suggestive the comprehensive view! Can one who was brought up on these islands ever be content to live in the cities of the mainland? How they must hunger for a horizon!

As we viewed the scene, the hum of the busy town rose upon the air like the drone of insects in a tropical forest, mingled at the moment with the soft chimes from the church of St. John. It was a fête day in Malta, and other bells joined in the chorus which floated upward with mellow cadence, creating a tender glow of peacefulness. While we gazed half-entranced upon this varied scene, the sun declined serenely toward its ocean bed, and slowly disappeared. At the same moment a sharp, ringing report was heard from the flag-ship of the squadron, preceded by a small puff of white smoke, which rose in circling wreaths from the evening gun. Then the national colors came gracefully down by the halliards from each peak and topmast head, and the brief twilight following was steeped in the red and yellow afterglow of the departed day, always so beautiful where sea and sky make the horizon, fading into each other's embrace.

How full of vitality and animated contrasts seemed the small world that lay within the scope of vision as we gazed! But now it was the close of day; both man and beast were ready to seek repose. Nature had set the example. Even the sea-birds turned toward their night-haunts, where they might fold their busy wings, as the war-ships had just furled their pennants.

What a delightful picture it was to hang in the gallery of one's memory, often to be recalled by a single word or sound.

Let us look inland from an advantageous point in the city of Valletta; an undulating country presents itself to the eye, sparsely settled, with here and there a small village, always dominated by its quaint stone church, and divided round about, as already described, by high stone walls designed to shelter the vegetation. A central rocky ridge is observed running north and south, which divides the island of Malta proper near its middle, the eastern side being the most extensive and populous. This view does not reveal any of the small groves; these are hidden in the few valleys where they exist, and the landscape is almost entirely devoid of arboreal ornament.

The people are few and the churches many, the latter quite out of proportion to the number of the population or their pecuniary means. In no other country, unless it be Mexico, is there such a manifest disproportion in this respect.

Two leagues away to the westward, upon a prominent elevation, the highest point of the ridge referred to, Città Vecchia is seen breaking the line of the horizon. It is called the "old city" to distinguish it from Valletta, the modern capital. At this distance it appears dim and dusty, almost like a mass of ruins, and, indeed, in some respects it is but little better. The stones of its best edifices are corrugated by the finger of Time, for the old capital of Malta was founded many centuries before the advent of Christ upon earth. One writer states that its origin dates back to 1804 B. C., but upon what authority we know not. It is a hill city, founded upon a rock, originally proud and pretentious in its design. We can easily imagine its grandeur when ten times its present population dwelt within the walls, and it was at the zenith of its prosperity. To-day, hoary and decrepit with age, it is rich only in the traditions of its past. Situated near the centre of the island, it was under various sovereignties and during many ages the honored capital of the group; but to-day, its dirty, gloomy, silent streets are comparatively abandoned, and a general somnolence reigns in its thoroughfares, though it is connected with Valletta by a narrow-gauge railway, built some few years since, – the only one on the islands. This is a mere toy railway, so to speak, after leaving which a broad, well-kept road leads up a gentle ascent to the brown and dingy walls of the crumbling old city.

As we enter the ancient metropolis by its principal gate, a time-worn, battered statue of Juno is passed, a figure which dates back to the Roman period of possession here; and just within the walls the guide points out the remains of a temple dedicated to Apollo. Everything is gray and picturesque; dilapidation and neglect are everywhere apparent. There are probably four or five thousand people still residing within the city limits, not a tithe of the number which were once to be found here. It is said that the walls which encompass the town formerly embraced three or four times the present area, but they were contracted to the present dimensions during the sovereignty of the Arabs, to make them more easy of defense when besieged by an invading enemy. Città Vecchia flourished in times when might alone made right, and warfare was the normal condition of the world. Malta was specially exposed to invasion from various quarters by those who sought its capture, or for purposes of plunder. Greek, Turkish, and Algerine pirates swarmed from the Dardanelles to the Straits of Gibraltar, and when satisfactory prizes were not to be found upon the open sea, inroads were organized upon the land. It was therefore necessary for the people of Città Vecchia to be always prepared to repel an active and daring enemy, and even to withstand successfully a protracted siege.

Only the skeleton of a once great and thriving metropolis now remains. The place has no commerce and no special industry, but is slowly fading away into the dimness of the past.

In wandering about the doleful streets of the ancient capital to-day, one meets a swarm of plethoric priests, sandaled monks, and hooded friars, while escorted from point to point by sad-looking, ragged, importuning beggars. Where the first of these elements abound, the other is sure to do so. This is a universal experience. Nowhere are the people more absolutely subservient to the control of the priesthood, or more completely subject to the exacting ordinances of the Roman Catholic Church. The priests receive rental for at least one third of the land which is occupied or cultivated on the islands. Unfortunately, this money is not expended in a way to benefit, even indirectly, the inhabitants of Malta. Nearly all the income from this source flows into that great pecuniary receptacle and avaricious maw, the pontifical treasury at Rome. There is no other palace in the world which is so rich in hoarded treasures as the Vatican, the thrice voluptuous Roman home of the Pope, where he lives surrounded by a populace which leads a life of penury and semi-starvation. Little heeds he of such trifling matters, while he "quaffs his Rhenish down." Appreciative travelers speak of the "cold wilderness of the Vatican." This sensation is easily accounted for. It is because this grand palace is so much more of a museum than a home, or human habitation. It has been called, not inappropriately, a congress of palaces, and, with two exceptions, is the largest in the world. The Royal Palace at St. Petersburg and that of Versailles exceed it somewhat in proportions, but by no means in the richness and intrinsic value of its hoarded wealth. The accumulation of original paintings and statuary, by the great masters of art, which are stored in the Pope's palace would alone bring over thirty million dollars, if sold to be added to the grand national collections open to the public in various European cities. The value of other treasures of the Vatican one would hardly dare to estimate, but the aggregate figure would far exceed that named in connection with the paintings and statuary. The gold in the Pope's plethoric treasury is to be added to this estimate. With this enormous amount of riches lying perdue, and being constantly added to, myriads who look upon the Pope as their spiritual father actually starve on the banks of the Tiber, at his very gates.

But let us return to Città Vecchia, whose site upon one of the spurs of the Bingemma Hills was so well chosen.

Much interest is felt by visitors in the ancient cathedral of the old city, its mouldering monasteries, its convents, its theological school, its hospitals, and its bishop's palace. The cathedral is said to be built upon the site of the house formerly occupied by Publius, the Roman governor of the island at the time of St. Paul's shipwreck, and who, if tradition may be believed, was his ardent friend and follower. It has two tall bell towers, a hundred and thirty feet in height, from which a grand view of the Maltese group is enjoyed, the elevation being over seven hundred feet above sea-level. The length of the edifice is nearly two hundred feet, and it is about half as wide as it is long. The form is that of a Latin cross. In effecting an entrance, one passes through an army of mendicants, poor, miserable creatures, who with blind credulity come hither in the hope of obtaining relief from their sufferings, the most prevalent of which is gnawing hunger!

The interior of the cathedral is very rich in gorgeous decoration. Like the church of St. John, its roof is superbly painted. This work was done by Vincenzo Manno, an eminent Sicilian artist, and represents scenes in the life of St. Paul. The high altar is composed of the finest marble, artistically wrought, and must have been very costly. The mosaic tombstones which form the flooring, after the style of the Valletta cathedral, are a marvel of patient workmanship, and produce a fine effect. A picture of the Madonna is pointed out by the guide, which is said to have been painted by St. Luke, and there are several presumed relics of the Apostle Paul. In one of the chapels is a painting representing the Apostle miraculously routing twenty thousand Moors, who came to besiege the city. The site upon which the cathedral stands is so elevated as to afford a most extensive view even from the terrace.

Beneath the ancient Court of Justice near at hand, there are some damp and dreary dungeons where human beings used to be confined ages ago, dungeons which rival in horror those of the Doge's Palace at Venice, or the direful cells beneath the Castle of Chillon, excavated under the Lake of Geneva.

CHAPTER XIII

Ancient Catacombs. – A Subterranean City. – Phœnician Tombs. – Grotto of St. Paul. – A Crumbling Old Capital. – Dreary and Deserted. – Bingemma Hills. – Ancient Coins and Antique Utensils. – Ruins of a Pagan Temple. – A Former Fane to Hercules. – A Garden of Delights. – Druidical Circles. – Beautiful Grotto. – Crude Native Dances. – Unique Musical Instrument. – Nasciar. – Suburb of Floriana. – A Capuchin Convent. – Grim Skeletons.

The stranger who comes to Città Vecchia seems to inhale an atmosphere of the Middle Ages which pervades everything in this quaint dwelling-place, almost as old as the sacred city of Benares, the Hindoo Mecca, which was famous before Rome was known, and when Athens was in its youth. Medina was the old Arabic name by which it was known, but probably it had other names in the far past. Phœnicians, Greeks, and Romans reared their dwellings upon its site, and have left evidences of their departed glory. Historic memories and suggestions hang about its crumbling monuments, its ruined ramparts, and its narrow footways. One of the most remarkable attractions in the vicinity is the extensive system of catacombs, which are very similar in many particulars to those of Rome, and which, if we may believe local tradition, were once connected with Valletta by a spacious tunnel. This would require a remarkable piece of engineering. To perfect such a passageway through solid rock, though it was comparatively easy to work, would involve a cost of time, labor, and money which would be hardly at the command of a primitive race. If such a tunnel did exist, it would nearly equal the Hoosac Tunnel of Massachusetts, and would be at least five miles long. The entire length of the catacombs as they now exist is computed to be fifteen miles, though there are no authentic statistics about them. Their size and regularity of construction have caused them to be called the Subterranean City. They are hewn out of the rock at a depth of from twelve to fifteen feet below the surface, small openings upward at suitable intervals admitting the necessary fresh air. Torches or lanterns are quite indispensable in visiting them, and a competent guide should always be taken. A stranger might easily become confused and lost among the intricacies of these dim, subterranean passages. Tradition tells of a schoolmaster who attempted to explore these catacombs without a guide, in company with a troop of his pupils, and, according to the story, the whole party lost their way and perished miserably.

There are several spacious halls among these underground galleries, the roof of one being supported by a line of many fluted columns wrought out of the solid rock, just as they stand. Here it is supposed that religious or pagan ceremonies of some sort took place. A solid stone, which might have served as a rude altar or place of sacrifice, was found in the centre of the hall referred to. Portions of these catacombs have been walled up in modern times, since a second party of visitors became lost in them. Along the sides of the passages there are occasionally excavations which seem to have been used for sleeping purposes, or possibly for burial nooks, wherein the bodies were hermetically sealed after death. There are places also which appear as if designed for baking ovens; indeed, there are many special arrangements of so peculiar a character that it is difficult to imagine their several uses. The origin of the catacombs and their real design are lost in antiquity, but they are known to have existed in the days of Roman sovereignty here, that is, over two thousand years ago. They may have served both as tombs and as hiding-places. The primitive Christians are believed to have fled to them for refuge, and are thought to have used them also as tombs, and yet if they ever contained any mural appointments they must have been long since removed. There is nothing in these subterranean passages now but the mouldering stones and an atmosphere of an earth-impregnated character, suggestive of humanity turned to dust. Upon the whole, one cannot but rejoice at leaving these damp, gloomy, mysterious passages far behind.

It suggests itself to the visitor that the large amount of rock which must have been removed in the formation of this Subterranean City was used for building purposes upon the surface of the island. Probably Città Vecchia itself, so near at hand, is largely composed of the natural stone thus procured. A double purpose may thus have been served, – the obtaining of means for building substantial habitations above ground, and the forming of sepulchral avenues for tombs, hiding-places, or for secret rites, either pagan or Christian. There were times when Christians were compelled to worship here in secret.

Near the entrance to the catacombs is the Grotto of St. Paul, over which an unpretentious chapel is built, dedicated to the memory of the Apostle to the Gentiles. He is supposed to have lived here during his three months' sojourn upon the group, in which time he not only converted Publius to Christianity, but also sowed the seed which bore fruit to the same effect among nine tenths of the population. According to all accounts, Christianity, as we construe the word, thus made its advent in Malta with the shipwreck which took place in St. Paul's Bay, so many centuries ago. In the middle of the grotto just spoken of is a crudely executed statue of the Apostle. The visitor is assured that the stone of this cavernous apartment is remarkable for its efficacy in the cure of fevers and of poisonous bites. Credulous people secure pieces thereof, and keep them on hand for use in an emergency. A story is told of the miraculous nature of the grotto stone, to wit: it seems that, although it is constantly cut away to supply the demand for it as a remedial agent, yet it never becomes less, but is always replaced by unknown means. The many legends relating to St. Paul and his stay upon the group are most religiously cherished and believed in at Malta, and it would be considered little less than an insult, by a native, to question their verity. If there is any truth in profane or sacred history, we are quite ready to believe that St. Paul was wrecked on the island of Malta, and that the outline of the story as handed down to us is veracious; and yet, who is it that says, "History is only a fable agreed upon"?

Some few descendants of the old Maltese nobility, as empty in purse as are their titles in any real value, keep up a degree of appearances in their moss-grown and decaying "palaces," so called by courtesy, while other edifices, once grand and pretentious, are either quite untenanted, or are occupied for commercial purposes. The town forcibly reminds one of Toledo, on the banks of the Tagus in Spain, which is equally dead and deserted, and probably of as ancient origin. Its grand edifices are now diverted to storage purposes, and its palaces closed. Here, in the day of Spanish glory, royal pageants alternated with ecclesiastic parades, and grand military displays often varied the scene. Coveted by various conquerors, she too had been besieged more than twenty times. Like Città Vecchia, her glory was at its acme in mediæval days.

In an endeavor to keep up the importance of the old Maltese capital under the rule of the Order of St. John, it was required that each new Grand Master of the Knights should come hither to be inaugurated, and here, the precedent having been established, each new bishop of the island is still consecrated. There are several other official acts which are not considered binding unless they are first promulgated at Città Vecchia. So in Russia there are certain state ceremonials, such as the crowning of a new Czar, or the marriage of a royal pair, which must be performed at Moscow, the ancient metropolis of the empire, notwithstanding the fact that St. Petersburg is so much more populous, and is the capital as well as the royal residence. But in this instance the old Muscovite capital is in perfect condition, so to speak, picturesque and beautiful, and never more populous and prosperous than it is to-day. Città Vecchia, one can easily see, must once have been a proud and stately city, surrounded by high walls and stout bastions, but its glory has long since departed. Ptolemy eulogized it in his day under the title it then bore, – Melita. The once formidable walls are now in a crumbling, neglected condition. Indeed, the charm of the old place consists in its memories alone. It was growing less populous yearly when Valletta was begun, more than three hundred years ago; the completion of the new city acted as a finishing stroke to its social and commercial interests. So rapidly was the ancient capital deserted by its inhabitants, who sought homes in the new metropolis, that, as we have intimated, ingenious laws were devised to make it more attractive to its residents.

During the dominion of the Knights, Città Vecchia was governed by a ruler chosen from the native Maltese citizens by the Grand Master, a custom which was cunningly designed to satisfy the native population by holding forth the idea that it was an independent, self-governing district. When the Knights first came to Malta, they were specially considerate of the native people, conciliating the populace in every possible way, but after they had thoroughly established themselves upon the island and become firmly seated, they ruled the natives with a rod of iron. In later years they had become so arbitrary and exacting that the Maltese were quite ready, when the time came, to bid them farewell, and to welcome their new masters, the English.

The Grand Master, Matino Garzes, made Città Vecchia a place of refuge, as it were. It was decreed that all persons who lived permanently within its walls should be free from arrest for debt during a certain period. If any of its citizens committed an offense outside of its walls, giving cause for civil complaint, the case must be tried only in the local tribunals of Città Vecchia. These and many other special enactments, though designed to particularly favor the residents of the old capital, failed to have the desired effect. The people gradually removed to the more attractive seaport, fascinated by its scenes of busy life, its freshness and cleanliness, together with its charming site, all were in such broad contrast to the drowsy, cheerless inland resort which crowns the Bingemma Hills.

There is plenty of evidence hereabout to show that this was of old the great centre of life upon the island of Malta, and that more than one race was here in large and thriving numbers, each of whom ruled for a period of longer or shorter duration, and then passed away. Conjecture alone can fill up the gap between the known and the unknown, traceable by crumbling monuments and suggestive ruins.

Not far from Città Vecchia, clearly attesting to the great antiquity of this mid-island neighborhood as a populous centre, the hills – Bingemma Mountains, the Maltese call them – are thickly occupied by Phœnician tombs excavated in the solid rock, "pathetic monuments of banished men." Out of these tombs curious articles have often been taken, and such are still occasionally found in them. It is plain that the primitive people who formed these rock-tombs possessed good tools and an aptitude for using them; also that they had a cultured taste in architecture, adhering to a certain purity of order in their designs wherever exhibited, whether in tomb or temple. The resemblance of these caves at Bingemma to the sepulchral grottoes which still exist in the environs of Tyre and Sidon is remarkable. The latter, it will be remembered, was the early seat of the Phœnician kingdom, in which fact we have evidence of a common parentage between the two people who built them.