The sense of outraged humanity was too strong for words. Even the sleek, well-fed priest, who had acted the part of guide through the church, looked abashed as we pointed to this tableau of misery, and then reproachfully at the gorgeously appointed temple whose portal we had just left behind.
How forcibly that Mexican scene is recalled while we write these lines. At each of the two corners of the plaza nearest to the cathedral stood a native woman beside a large receptacle of corn meal, from which, by adding a little water and salt, she was making what is here called polenta, or dough cakes, which she fried in small slices over a charcoal fire. Of this plain, simple food,—probably the cheapest which can be produced,—such of the poor creatures standing near as were possessed of the means ate a small portion, for which they paid one penny, devouring the cake with voracious appetite, while the rest looked on with hungry and longing expression. The reader may be assured that the half-starved crowd were supplied to the extent of their appetite for once with the nutritious though simple food, while thin-cheeked mothers were seen hurrying away with pieces of the polenta in their hands to feed their hungry children at home. The profuse blessings which were showered upon the "Americano" were cheaply purchased.
Within that pretentious church were idle treasures, the interest upon which, if the principal were properly disposed of, would feed the hungry people of Guadalupe for years. "Ah!" says the poet Shelley, "what a divine religion might be found out, if charity were really the principle of it, instead of faith!"
Does Christianity, as strikingly represented by gorgeous temples, filled with hoarded, useless treasures, while surrounded by a hopeless, naked, starving populace, render any real service to humanity? To the author's mind, religion of this sort, so far from preventing one crime, affords pretext for hundreds.
Let us now conduct the reader to more cheerful and attractive scenes, and describe the picture as presented by the main thoroughfare of the charming capital of the Knights.
CHAPTER X.
Broadway of Valletta.—Panoramic Street View.—A Bogus Nobility.—Former Grand Palace of the Knights.—Telegraphic Station.—About Soldier-Priests.—Interior of the Palace.—Ancient Tapestry.—Old Paintings.—Antique Armory.—An American with a Fad.—Ancient Battle-Flags.—Armor worn by the Knights.—Days of the Crusaders.—Bonaparte as a Petty Thief.—There are no Saints on Earth!—Dueling Ground.—Desecrating Good Friday.
The Strada Reale of Valletta is thoroughly kaleidoscopic in its gay and fascinating presentment of humanity, forming a strange medley of colors, while its variety of nationalities recalls Suez and Port Said, where representatives of the East and West are so confusingly mingled. Here one sees English ladies and gentlemen clad in fashionable London attire; soldiers in smart red uniforms; barefooted natives, whose lower garments are held in place by a gaudy sash tied about the waist; brown-skinned peddlers, with fancy wares, jostled by a dignified Hindoo, a turbaned Turk, or a swarthy Spaniard of questionable purpose. There passes also an occasional Greek in picturesque national costume; a white burnoused Arab; a native woman in sombre dress, with her face nearly hidden by a dark hood (a faldetta), which takes the place of a Castilian mantilla. Here, also, are noisy, half-tipsy blue-jackets, with broad collars, and straw hats, enjoying shore-leave after their ideas of pleasure. There are many plethoric, unctuous priests and cowled monks, all mingling indiscriminately; while persistent, whining, half-clad beggars are present everywhere. Verily, it is a motley group one encounters upon this principal street of the Maltese capital.