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 Freres 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 Citta 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.
The treasures still remaining in the church of St. John are of great
intrinsic value, notwithstanding the fact that Bonaparte's soldiers,
after the usual fashion of the French in these days, robbed it of nearly
all portable articles which were of a salable nature, during their brief
stay upon the island. Their stealings included the twelve life-size
statues of the Apostles, which were of silver. These statues are said to
have been ransomed by some rich prelate, and are now in the old
cathedral of Citta Vecchia, if common report may be credited. The
author, however, did not see them there. A golden lamp of great size and
value was also purloined by the same freebooters when they robbed St.
John's church of other effects. Many articles which it was not desirable
to carry off, these vandals wantonly destroyed. One of the Venetian
chandeliers, thus sacrificed, when lighted burned several hundred
candles at a time. The guide points out the balustrade before the altar
already spoken of as consisting of solid silver, which escaped the
observation of the soldiery. This was brought about by the ingenious act
of a thoughtful priest, who, to hide the true character of the material,
painted the precious metal black. It has in our day assumed its true
argentiferous appearance. It was this shameful thieving propensity of
the French, that of pillaging all the churches, art galleries, and
charitable institutions of those upon whom they made war, which finally
led to their expulsion, causing the Maltese at last to rise in a body
and declare a revolution. This inexcusable pilfering was begun before
Bonaparte left the group; indeed, he set the example himself, though he
was only six days on the island. Leaving a trusted general in charge, he
hastened onward with his ships and soldiers to Egypt, which was the
objective point of the expedition. The invasion and capture of the
island of Malta was, as it were, only incidental. The treasures stolen
from Malta were placed on board L'Orient, a vessel which was lost in the
sea,--it was blown up, in fact, and now lies on the bottom of the bay
where the battle of Aboukir was fought. It was destroyed by the British
fleet under Nelson in that memorable action, and forms an example of
poetic justice with which one cannot but heartily sympathize. When
Bonaparte left Malta he impressed the native regiment which formed the
guard of the Grand Master into the service of France, promising to pay a
certain sum regularly to the families whom they left upon the island; a
promise which was never fulfilled by Bonaparte, and was never intended
to be. The French were liberal in promises and agreements duly drawn up
and signed--then totally ignored.
Sometimes Providence chooses to employ peculiar agents whereby to
accomplish its purposes. Thus the French, who were birds of ill-omen
wherever they appeared in those days, were the means of bringing about
one great and much-needed reform during their sovereignty here in 1798,
for which they deserve much credit. They promptly banished from the
island that hateful and bloody agent of the Romish church, the
Inquisition, which had taken deep root in Malta, and which was reveling
in its bigotry, cruelty, and despotism, defying the authority of all
recognized and regularly constituted laws. The spacious stone edifice
formerly devoted to the use of these inquisitors, situated in the Strada
Porta Maggiore, is now occupied as barracks for an English regiment. So
it is with those priestly harems of Mexico, the late convents and
nunneries, which, having been forbidden by the national government to be
used for such purposes, are now improved for district schools,
hospitals, libraries, and sundry other useful and respectable purposes,
much to the improvement of the morals of the community.
An impressive personal experience in the church of St. John occurs to us
as we write.
The soft light from the wax candles did not banish the sombre hues
inside the ancient place, though it was midday on one occasion as we
stood examining the rich old tapestry near the high altar. It was very
still, and we were quite alone. No services were going on. Suddenly a
strong ray of sunlight penetrated some opening from above and rested
upon the illumined hangings. It brought out the dim colors and figures
as though they had been touched by the wand of an enchanter. The eye
involuntarily followed this shaft of light to its source, the rays being
made up, apparently, of buoyant and infinitesimal sands of gold. The
translucent column slowly changed its angle, until it rested for a
moment, like a halo, upon the severed head of St. John, in Caravaggio's
canvas, then suddenly disappeared. It seemed like an artificially
produced theatrical effect, cleverly managed, but the memory of the
singularly impressive experience is indelibly fixed upon the brain.
There are between thirty and forty churches in and about Valletta, none
of which merit special attention for their appointments. It would seem
as though there were more than the number named, since in wandering
about the town one is constantly coming upon a fresh one, whose
crumbling walls, however, are anything but "fresh." Two or three of
these churches were founded by Roger, when King of Sicily and Malta, and
were liberally endowed by him about the beginning of the eleventh
century. There is also a Jewish synagogue of modern construction, to
accommodate the followers of that faith, who, although not numerous, are
still represented by considerable numbers in the city. The architecture
of the churches is mostly of the Renaissance, presenting each a great
dome flanked by two heavy towers. Besides these churches, there are
several minor chapels within the fortifications. Particular interest
attaches to one of the latter, which for many years was hidden by the
debris of the fallen walls of St. Elmo. The episode which makes this
small chapel so specially worthy of mention forms one of the bright,
chivalric pages in the too often darkened career of the Knights of St.
John.
When the capture of this fort by the Turks, in the famous siege of 1565,
became at last inevitable, after months of stout defense and gallant
fighting, the few surviving Knights who so bravely held the position
against immensely superior numbers retired to this small chapel within
the fort, where they received the viaticum, solemnly embraced each
other, and then, although many of them were already grievously wounded,
went forth upon the ramparts to die. In the general defense of the
island it was all-important,--nay, imperative--that St. Elmo should hold
out as long as was possible. Every hour that it delayed the enemy was of
the greatest importance. Reinforcements from Italy were anxiously
expected, and the fleet which should bear them might heave in sight at
any moment. The walls of St. Elmo were already honeycombed by the shot
of the enemy, but the idea of surrendering to the Turks did not even
enter the minds of its brave though weary defenders. The Grand Master
demanded of them, if it became necessary, to die sword in hand, fighting
the infidels to the last gasp. This order was literally obeyed.
Communication with the other forts was entirely cut off, so that it was
impossible to reinforce those who were left within the crumbling walls,
but the gallant defenders managed to send word to headquarters by
employing an expert native, who made his way across the harbor in the
night, swimming mostly under water, so that the Grand Master was
informed of their exact situation. By the same means of communication,
the order was sent to them, "Hold the fort, or die fighting," in
obedience to which, every Knight faithfully laid down his life!
We know of no parallel case in warfare. Indeed, there are few more
heroic pages in history than those which record the gallant defense of
the Maltese fort of St. Elmo, before which, not only hundreds, but many
thousands of frenzied Turks, the flower of the Ottoman army, were
slaughtered in vain but savage assaults upon its walls. The few
chivalrous Knights who constituted the forlorn hope left to the last in
the fort sold their lives to the enemy at such fearful cost, killing so
many of them outright,--quarter being neither asked nor given,--as to
spread consternation among the whole army of besiegers, the remnant of
whom not long after withdrew from the island in despair. The frenzied
recklessness of the Turks was no match for the cool, determined purpose
of men who had consecrated themselves, as it were, to death.
The leader of the infidel forces, Mustafa Pasha, when surveying the
scene of the last terrible conflict, and realizing that more than half
of his invading army had been sacrificed before the walls of St. Elmo,
is reported as having said, while looking toward the other and greater
forts still held by the Knights, "If the child has required the
spilling of such rivers of blood and such myriads of lives to conquer
it, what sacrifice will not the parent demand before yielding?" Nothing
but Mohammedan frenzy, a wild, unthinking, religious zeal, infatuation
pure and simple, could have sustained this long, destructive, and
fruitless siege on the part of the Turks.
St. Elmo to-day is considered to be the most perfect and the most
absolutely impregnable of all the fortified points of the Maltese
capital. It requires two regiments of artillery and one of infantry to
man the extensive walls of this fort in war time. It was, comparatively
speaking, an infant in arms, in those early days. Now it is like a
full-grown giant,--a man-of-war in size and strength. Its original form
was almost exactly like a star, but ample additions have somewhat
changed its outlines.
Speaking of the several churches of Valletta and its environs, the
remarkable dome of Musta is recalled. It covers a Pantheon-like edifice,
situated in a village a league or so from the capital. The church is
visible from a lofty point in the city, and was built by the labor of
the poor peasantry of the neighborhood, patiently and resolutely
continued through a period of thirty years. Yet, speaking of these
peasants, Mr. Henry Ruggles, a late American consul to Malta, says:
"They are so poor that the most opulent has not sufficient income to
purchase a goat." The Musta church was originally designed by a devout
and conscientious priest, who inspired his helpers by his self-devotion
to the purpose which he had conceived. But he did not live to see it
finished. It is curious that the dome of this village church, on a
Mediterranean island, should be a widespread, lofty structure, larger
than that of St. Paul's, London. The span of the latter is ten feet less
than that of the former. It is a round edifice, composed of the yellow
Maltese stone, and of such majestic proportions as to be very pleasing
to the critical eye. The church is dedicated to the Madonna. The extreme
height from the ground to its apex is about two hundred feet, the walls
being very thick. The diameter of the whole is about that of its height,
which are the same proportions as the Pantheon at Rome, from which many
of the features are evidently copied. It has a couple of large bell
towers placed at either end of a Corinthian portico which forms the main
entrance, but they are rather diminutive compared with the central dome.
This, as well as all the village churches in the group, is plentifully
ornamented with images and paintings, the latter mostly of a very
ordinary character. Occasionally a fine one arrests the visitor's
attention, and such examples are generally attributed to some famous
artist; whether correctly or not, it is impossible for any one but an
expert to decide. The date of these works, the proximity of Italy, and
the liberality of the people in artistic decoration of the churches
render quite possible the originality claimed for many of the best
paintings found in Malta.
Several legends are current as to the origin of this Musta temple, but
they would hardly interest the average reader, though possessing a
certain emphasis and fascination when related to one standing beneath
the shadow of its lofty walls. When it was decided to erect the church,
for some special reason it was particularly desirable to have the new
edifice occupy the same site as the ancient structure already upon the
ground. The question arose as to how this should be brought about.
Knowing that the new temple must be years in course of construction, it
was thought best not to destroy the smaller existing church until a new
place of worship was completed. To meet this exigency, the one now
bearing the grand dome was built outside and over the old one, the
latter remaining undisturbed during the process. The dome, it is said,
was thus constructed without raising any staging around it. When the
walls and all of the new temple were finished, the old church was
demolished and the debris promptly removed. This was certainly a
remarkable architectural achievement.
There are a dozen domes within the city walls, of less size, in view
from the same point which takes in the Musta Pantheon, as it is often
called. Many of the edifices to which they belong are costly structures,
but they are not elegant or attractive. There are a few fine paintings
in these city churches. One by Guido Reni in the church of Santa Maria,
representing Santa Ursula, is highly prized, and is often visited by
connoisseurs in art. It is doubtless an original. Unless one has a
considerable amount of leisure time to dispose of, after a thorough
inspection of the grand church of St. John, there remains little in the
same line worthy of attention in Valletta. A careful study of this
structure and the cathedral of Citta Vecchia will doubtless satisfy the
average traveler.
There are said to be two hundred churches and chapels in the group, but
this is, we should think, an exaggeration. Nevertheless, it is certainly
true that a few less churches and a great many more schools would
redound to the well-being of the inhabitants.