Melita! The glory of a triumph clings, odorous as incense,
Around thy hero dead!
UP THE MEDITERRANEAN.--MALTA.
With the dawn of August 15th we were rounding Europa Point, and leaving
Gibraltar far away astern. On our starboard hand three or four luminous
points in the atmosphere indicate the position of the snow peaks of
Atlas, the range itself being lost in the distance.
We chanced on a favoring breeze, so all sail was spread to help us
against the strong five knot current always setting out from this sea. I
cannot tell with what feelings you entered upon this, the greatest
highway of commerce in the world. For all of us it possesses a certain
interest, but to some more so than to others. I refer to those who love
to wander in imagination amidst the departed glories of Greece and
Rome--empires which lived, moved, and had their being when our
forefathers were but tattooed savages.
As we advance, the sea begins to widen, the mountainous outline of the
Spanish coast trends boldly to the northward; whilst the African shore
grows indistinct and flatter, save where here and there some mighty peak
rears its head from out of cloudland. Since leaving "Gib." we have been
under the escort of shoals of porpoises, who ever and anon shoot ahead
to compare rate of speed; or, by way of change in the programme, to
exhibit their fishy feats under the ship's bows. Whether there be any
truth in the mariners' yarn, that the presence of porpoises generally
indicates a change in the wind, I will leave for you to form your own
opinion; but certain it was, that on the present occasion, the wind did
change, and to a "muzzler" illustrating in the most practical manner
that our ship could be just as lively on occasion as other pieces of
naval architecture. The stomachs of some of our younger hands, too,
seemed to have suddenly acquired a sympathetic feeling with the
movements of the ship, which, strangely enough, impressed them with a
desire to reveal what they had had for dinner. The ship, though, dashed
onward like a mad thing, regardless of the agony she was inflicting on
some of her human parasites.
This was but the commencement of our sufferings for now the heat was
beginning to annoy us. To us who could go on deck when we wished it was
bad enough, but to those poor fellows who had to swelter and toil in the
stokehole it must have been very trying, though compared with what was
yet to come this was a mere bagatelle. We had encountered that blasting
wind known as the "sirocco"--the scourge of the Mediterranean--which
after gathering force and heat in the African deserts comes with its
fiery and sand-laden breath to sap the moisture from all who have not
the natures of salamanders. Fortunately we soon passed beyond its
sphere of action.
Darkness rapidly sets in in these regions of eternal summer. The sunny
shores and genial climes of the Mediterranean, where the very touch of
the air seems a perfumed caress, lack only one thing to make them a
paradise. Those pleasant hours which obtain in our less favoured land
after the sun has set, and which we call twilight, are entirely unknown
here, hours which England's youths and maidens generally appropriate to
themselves, and which, in after years, recall some of the sweetest
memories of their lives. Fancy a day deprived of such hours! No sooner
has Phoebus veiled his glorious beams than there is a general demand for
candles, and we find our liberal supply of two 'dips' a very inadequate
apology for about four hours' illuminating purposes on a draughty deck.
But we must haste on our way past the Tunisian Coast, past Galita,
onward through fleets of lateen rigged piratical looking crafts, with
snowy sails and bird-like movements, dashing their white wings in the
surge. We must not dwell too long on this peaceful and pleasant shore,
for Pantellaria--an island of more interest in one sense--begins to rise
ahead. This, in all probability, is the "Calypso's Isle" of the
classics, but now the less poetical "Botany Bay" of the Italians. I
should think that a few years' compulsory residence here is a thing to
be desired rather than not, for it is a delightful spot enough, a sort
of embryo continent, and nature seems to have achieved here some of her
grandest works in the smallest possible space and with the least
possible amount of material. As we near its shore we catch a glimpse of
a pure white town, gracefully reclining on the slopes of a hill at the
head of a perfect miniature of a bay. Artistically the effect is very
pleasing, the glistening white houses seem as if embowered in the
darkest of green foliage, each roof, each angle standing out most
distinctly. Much as we regret it we see charming Pantellaria vanishing
astern, for our engines will not cease their everlasting plunges to
satisfy any weaknesses of ours.
How wonderfully strange and new everything seems to us; the sea, the
land, its peoples, all so different to England; even the very heavens
shed milder lights, have purer depths of colour. At night the stars
shine out larger and with greater brilliance than we are wont to see
them. Our old friend, the Great Bear, still remains true to us, though
he keeps shorter watches in our southward way, others less loyal,
forsake us altogether, yet in exchange if we get new forms they are not
less beautiful.
Brilliant as are the skies the sea is equally so, for there seem as many
gems beneath as above us; we appear to be cleaving our way through a
yielding mass of liquid gold. Every dash the ship makes she seems to set
the sea on fire, throwing starry sprays far over our heads on to the
deck where the drops still retain their light.
At early morning on August 22nd, a great jabbering outside the ship, as
though a colony of monkeys had encountered another babel, announced that
we were at Malta. Boats by the hundred swarm around us, and never was
seen such a gesticulating, swearing crowd, as their occupants, nor such
pushing and hauling, such splashing and wrangling, and even fighting to
maintain their stations alongside. One's eyes cannot fail to be
arrested by these boats, but the colouring of them is what attracts
particular attention. We get here our first idea of the criental love
for colour, though at Malta the idea is exaggerated, because the colours
do not blend harmoniously. For instance, the same boat will be painted
with emerald green, vermillion, cobalt, and chrome yellow, put on
without the slightest regard to effect or harmony. The eye on the bow is
universal, no waterman would dare venture from the shore without such a
pilot.
These little crafts, in addition to their legitimate use, have a
secondary, though very important one, that of advertising mediums, not
unworthy the genius of our American cousins. To select an example here
and there. One boat bearing the characteristic and truly Catholic legend
"Nostra Senora di Lordes," also sets forth another legend to the effect
that "Every ting ver cheap here Jack," though _what_ is cheap and
_where_ is not so clearly indicated; on another this extraordinary piece
of English, "Spose you cum my housee, have got plenty." Of these same
"housees" numerous tales are told; of one in particular, where you can
obtain "ebery ting" except the right. You ask for beef steak, or ham and
eggs, and the master of the house, in the blandest manner and with much
shrugging of the shoulders, will answer you, "Me ver sorry, hab got
ebery ting but that," and ditto to your next order, he has also the sang
froid to tell you on your complaining of the toughness of that
succulent, that his cabbage must be tender because it has been boiling
_ever since the "Caledonia" went home_. If you don't enjoy it after
that, all that I can say is you are over fastidious.
But to return to the busy and noisy throng alongside. Its composition
differs very little from that usually encountered by ships of war in all
parts of call. The washerwomen are the undoubted masters of the
situation, and carry all before them. The alacrity with which they
scramble up the perpendicular side of the ship is simply astonishing. It
struck me that we could not do it with greater ease, notwithstanding
that we possess the advantage of unfettered extremities. In the
twinkling of an eye they are below, and besieging us in our messes,
holding out for our inspection greasy looking rolls of paper, purporting
to set forth in English, French, Italian and Spanish, and even in Greek
and Turkish, the bearers' exploits amidst the soap suds. To read the
English certificates while at breakfast is highly amusing and
provocative of much merriment. Here is one. The writer is one "Bill
Pumpkin," H.M.S. "Ugly Mug," who states that the holder, Mary Brown (who
does not know Mary the ubiquitous Mary), "has a strange knack of
forgetting the gender of a shirt, for it not unfrequently happens that
you may find her with that article of male apparel on her own 'proper
person,' otherwise, he says, she is all that can be desired." The said
Mary B being unable to read English--or for that matter any other
language--holds up her paper in triumph. Happy, ignorant Mary!
Having squared yards with the black-eyed nymphs (all the shady side of
thirty), we are next assailed with the milkmen, who not only bring their
cans, but also their goats on board. When the can is run out "nanny" is
milked, and sent about to look for a feed under the mess-tables, a
locality she is thoroughly acquainted with from frequent experience.
Our first breakfast in Malta is over, a meal not easily to be forgotten,
for fruit is plentiful and good and very cheap, and milk equally so, and
cans full of the latter added to the chocolate make that nutritious
beverage truly delightful, while luscious grapes supply a wholesome and
refreshing dietary.
Now for a run on shore. Valetta, or la Valette, in honor of one of the
most famous of the Grand Masters, the modern capital of Malta, is a
fairly large place, though by no means extensive enough to be styled a
City, except out of courtesy. How dingy the buildings and how dusty the
pavements from the crumbling masonry. The houses are so lofty that the
strip of blue sky can scarcely send its light to the bottom, whilst the
upper storeys have such an affectionate leaning towards each other, that
the wonder is that any mortar is capable of restraining their eagerness
to fall on each other's necks. But all the houses are not like this, and
the character of the masonry speedily improves on emerging from the
gloomy alleys into the magnificent Strada Reale, more of a roadway than
a street, for though there are many grand edifices and numerous shop
fronts, yet one may walk to Floriana on the one hand, and to Civita
Vecchia on the other, without turning to the right or left.
This crowded thoroughfare presents at this special time in particular a
most cosmopolitan appearance, for we have dropped in at Malta during the
sojourn here of the Indian Contingent, brought to Europe in anticipation
of difficulties with Russia.
The Maltese themselves, though unquestionably a small race, are wiry and
capable of enduring great hardships. They are very skilful artisans,
the filigree jewellery of their silversmiths, for example, is unequalled
as a work of art by anything of its kind in Europe. They are splendid
divers, and seem equally at home in the water as on the land; the
smallest coin thrown overboard being brought to the surface in a
twinkling. Whatever their original language might have been, that which
they now possess is a most animated one; for they throw their spars
about in a most alarming manner in emphasis of what they say, inclining
one to the belief that sailors have of this people, namely--if you tie a
Maltese hands he can't speak.
Just a word or two descriptive of the sexes: the men we will dismiss
with a few words; they are, as I said before, below the medium height,
with dark Italian faces and eyes, but otherwise not remarkable. The
women are, though, or perhaps I ought to have said their appearance is.
Landing in Malta for the first time, a stranger is apt to conclude that
every woman he sees is either a sister of mercy or a nun. This is due,
in a great measure, to their national costume, about the only national
possession they can now boast of, which consists of a loose gown of
rusty black and a hood-like covering over the head and shoulders, also
black. This construction throws their face--a rather comely one--into
deep shade, almost as sombre-looking as their dress. No doubt if they
could be induced to wear the various so-called aids to nature which our
ladies use to make "a good figure," the Maltese women might do as an
advertisement for Worth; but under the present system of dressing well,
I would guarantee to produce as shapely a structure out of a stuffed
bread bag with a spun-yarn around its middle.
If a people be religious, in proportion to the number of priests and
sacred edifices seen in their midst, then ought the Maltese to be
pre-eminently a devout people; for it seems as if every third building
is a church, and every other man one meets a priest; whilst the
incessant and not always melodious clanging of bells all day long, is a
constant reminder that there is no lack of opportunity for devotees.
So far as the outward appearance of the priests may be taken as the
index to the man's worldly position, I should pronounce their calling
anything but a lucrative one; for a more seedy-looking class is rarely
to be met with. Their care-worn faces and rusty and tattered garments
testifying that in Valetta, at least, the proverbial easy and jolly life
of the priesthood does not prevail.
In spite of the lack of good building material, there are some very fine
buildings in Malta--notably, the palace, the cathedral of San Giovanni,
and the opera house. The palace has its immediate entrance from the
Strada Reale, by means of an arched gateway of Oriental design, whilst
iron railings extend along the whole front of the structure on either
side the gate. Within is the palace square, beautifully and tastefully
laid out with rare exotics and flowering trees, floral designs and fish
ponds. A grand marble stairway indicates the direction we are to take to
reach the interior of the pile, at the head of which is a sort of
vestibule, or hall, when all further progress is barred by the presence
of one of the palace functionaries. We explain our errand, said
functionary demurs, pulls a long face, makes sundry excuses as to its
not being the proper day and so on, whilst all the time he is making a
mental calculation as to the value of the expected "tip." The workings
of that man's mind are as patent as the day. An English shilling
speedily smooths the wrinkles off that puckered brow as if by a miracle,
and makes us the best of friends. What wonders the little medallion
portrait of the Majesty of England will work, what hearts soften, what
doors unlock, and what hypocrites make! With a flattering and obsequious
bow our guide leads the way.
The palace was built by the Knights as their regal residence, and as
everything in it has been most religiously preserved, the various rooms
will present a pretty fair picture of the manner of life of these
soldier priests, whose portraits adorns the walls around. To the frame
of each a metal label is attached, on which is an inscription in Latin,
setting forth the patronymic and virtues of the original. Some are
represented in military armour with bold martial air, whilst others are
depicted in the more peaceful garb of priests, or civilians, but all
wear the sash and cross, peculiar to the Order, the latter symbol--known
as the Maltese Cross--being found on all their coins and possessions.
Out of the portrait gallery folding doors admit us to the Parliament
House, where the Government officials assemble for the conduct of State
business. The four walls are enriched and adorned with wonderful
specimens of needlework, testifying to the patience and skill of the
knights' fair friends.
But the most interesting place of all is the armoury, a vast hall at
right angles to the picture gallery, in which are weapons and arms of
all sizes, workmanship, and ages; from the light rapier and fencing
helmet for friendly practice, to the two-handed sword and iron casque of
thirty pounds weight, for the more deadly strife. Some highly
interesting relics are here, too, the original document whereby Charles
V. tendered the island to the Knights--a consumptive looking cannon with
very large touch-holes and very small bores--stone shot, iron shot, lead
balls, all arranged in neat designs. Suits of armour of delicate
filigree work, in silver and gold, in glass cases; other suits less
costly, though of equal ingenuity, ranged along the walls in erect
positions, spear in hand, or leaning on a huge sword. From the size and
weight of some of these suits, I opine, the Knights must have been men
of large build, a medium sized suit being rather the exception than
otherwise.
After a glance at the old, lumbering State carriage of Bonaparte, with
its faded, gilded trappings and armorial emblazonry, we haste away to
view something else.
Next in importance to the Palace, comes the Church of St. John (San
Giovanni), by far the finest building in Malta. The interior is very
gorgeous, with gilded vaulted roof, finely carved pulpits, rare old
crimson tapestries and monumental floor, resembling one enormous
heraldic shield. Beneath, lie the mouldering remains of the defunct
knights, the arms of each being represented on the slabs above them, in
the most delicate and accurate designs, in some cases stones more rare
and costly than marble being used.
At the end of the eastern aisle is the Chapel of the Madonna, guarded by
massive silver bars, saved from the rapacity of Napoleon's soldiers by
the cunning and ingenuity of a priest, who, perceiving that Bony's
followers had very loose ideas of mine and thine, painted the rails wood
colour, and thus preserved them inviolate.
Once more in busy, bustling, Strada Reale, with its gay shops filled
with a tempting display of gold and silver filigree work, corals and
laces, the latter very fine specimens of needlework indeed.
Thus far, we have performed all our movements on foot, but now, as we
have to go a rather long distance over very uninteresting ground, we
think it more convenient to sling our legs over a horse's back, for the
journey to Civita Vecchia, better known to sailors as "Chivity-Vic."
This was the former capital of the island, though now, as deserted
almost as Babylon, its streets overgrown with grass, its buildings
crumbling ruins, and echoing to the tread of our horses' hoofs. But it
is not so much to view these ruins that I have brought you here, as to
visit the Catacombs, or subterranean burying grounds of the early
inhabitants. These are not much compared with those at Naples, or
Palermo, for instance, but to those who have seen neither the one nor
the other, they will present all the charm of novelty. Though only a
charnel house it is laid out with great care, in street, square, and
alley, just like the abodes of men above. The bodies are mostly in a
fine state of preservation, reposing in niches cut out of the dry earth,
some of the tombs being double, others, again, having an additional crib
for a child. It is next to impossible that organic matter can fall to
decay, owing to the extreme dryness of the place, and, except that the
colour has changed a little, the dead people around would have no
difficulty in recognizing their own faces again if brought suddenly to
life. Some of the bodies seem actually alive, a deception further borne
out by their being clothed in the very garments they wore when sentient,
joyful dwellers, in the city above. It is worthy of remark that, though
there is but one and the same means of ingress and egress, the air is
wonderfully pure, and free from any offensive odour or mustiness.
Its extreme dryness though, seems somehow to have a reciprocal effect on
the palates of our party, for I hear vague murmurs of "wanting something
damp," which, by-an-bye, break out into a general stampede. If there be
any bye-laws in existence against hard riding, we are happily ignorant
of them, nor have we the slightest sympathy with anxious mothers, whose
dusky and grimy offspring are engaged at a rudimentary school for
cookery in the mud of the road. Sailors, as a rule, don't note such
items.
August 25th, to-day, after a rather short stay, we looked our last, for
some years, on "the fair isle"--St. Paul's Melita.