As a religious order it has one great claim upon our respect, namely, in having preserved to the last hour of its existence the spirit of its original institute unchanged and unabated. In 1606 we find the Knights on the shores of Tunis still faithful to their old instinct of hospitality. A terrible tempest was destroying their galleys, and as they beat upon the rocks the Moors were on the watch to massacre those who escaped from the waves. Then did the Provençal, Vaucluse de Villeneuf, uphold the glory of his ancient name; and that of his order: “for,” says Goussancourt, “though he might have escaped in the galleys among the first, yet he chose to remain with the sick and wounded, carrying them on his shoulders, which was the cause of his being taken.” And down to a very late date we find the record of many whose noble confession of the Christian faith whilst in captivity won them the crown of martyrdom under most cruel tortures. The religious spirit was never wanting; and perhaps no more beautiful account of a Christian death-bed could be found than that given in a letter from the Père de la Croix, rector of the Jesuit College at Malta, in which he describes the last moments of two knights who died of their wounds received in a sea-fight on Saragossa in the year 1635. One of these, whom he calls “my good penitent the Chevalier Serviens,” was reckoned the most accomplished gentleman of his day. Such a term had unhappily in the seventeenth century a far different signification to that which would have attached to the words in earlier times; and yet the old meaning had not been forgotten among the Hospitallers of the Cross. Before departing on the enterprise in which he met with his death, Serviens had prepared himself by a general confession; “and his death,” says the good father, “was one which the most austere religious might well have cause to envy.” The other knight, who was wounded in the same fight, and died in the same room with his comrade, was La Roche Pichelle. “He was truly a saint,” writes the rector; “and to my knowledge had studied the interior life of perfection for four years, and that to such good purpose that he had outstripped many a Capuchin and Jesuit father in the progress he had made. These two friends lay side by side, assisting and consoling one another: they agreed together that whichever survived the longest should offer all his pains for the relief of his companion’s soul; and that the one who died first should in like manner offer all his prayers that the other might make a happy death. A little before his departure, Serviens called to his comrade, and asked him if he were ready to go, saying several times, ‘Let us go, let us go together;’ then he repeated the Salve Regina, and saluted his good angel; and at last took the crucifix in his hand, and repeated the prayer Respice as it is wont to be said in Holy Week. When he had ended, he grasped my hand,” continues the rector, “saying, ‘Farewell, my father;’ I told him he should try to expire with the holy names upon his lips; whereupon he kissed his scapular, and ejaculating the names of Jesus and Mary gave up his soul to his Creator.”
Nor could the religious spirit of the order have been as yet decayed, when we find the edifying spectacle it presented in 1637, bringing back to the bosom of the Church a descendant of St. Elizabeth of Hungary, in the person of Prince Frederic of Hesse. In the course of his travels through Italy he arrived at Malta, where he took such delight in the sight of so many young knights of all nations gathered together and living in perfect harmony and religious discipline one with another, that, returning to Rome, he implored the holy Pontiff, Urban VIII., to receive him into the true fold; after which he solicited and received the habit of St. John.
Again, in 1783, we find the Knights of Malta exhibiting their unalterable constancy to that sublime vocation which made Goussancourt declare, that “this order containeth within itself the perfection of all kinds of charity.” During the horrors of the great earthquake which destroyed the city of Messina, their generous and extraordinary exertions on behalf of the sufferers earned them a higher title to fame than was ever won on battle-field or on breach.
In the regret, therefore, with which we view the extinction of an institution whose name has been illustrious for so many ages, there mingles nothing of the contempt sometimes called forth by the fall of a dynasty which has derogated from its ancient fame. It was high-minded and chivalrous even amid the anarchy and confusion of the reign of terror. La Brilhane, the last ambassador of Malta at the court of France, was warned that his life was in danger. “I am under no apprehensions,” he loftily replied; “the moment is come at last, when a man of honour who faithfully performs his duty may die as gloriously on the gallows as he could ever have done on the field of battle.” And we can find no fitter words in which to give the epitaph of his order.
THE BATTLE OF LEPANTO.
Religious state of Europe—Fall of Cyprus—Bragadino—Calepius—The Christian league and armament—Rendezvous at Messina—Don John of Austria, his character and conduct—Meeting of the hostile fleets—Disposition of the ships—The battle—The Knights of Malta—Cervantes—Utter defeat of the infidels—Magnanimity of Don John—Results of the victory—Revelation made to St. Pius—The joy of Christendom, and commemorations of the Church.
The sixteenth century was drawing to its close,—a century marked by the ravages of religious revolution, and destined to be for ever honoured or deplored according as men may think of it as the age of reformation or of decay. Among the many social changes which arose out of the new order of things, we can scarcely fail to notice the growth of that exclusive nationality which has lasted until our own time. The great tie of religious unity was broken which had given the nations of Europe a common interest even in the midst of the continual warfare in which they were engaged, and which had inspired them with so many generous enterprises in defence of the faith. But when that bond of brotherhood was lost, there was no longer a common cause to fight for: a profound selfishness may thenceforward be discovered in the whole history of Europe, and the chance alliances of one power with another had no nobler basis than the political interests of the hour.