A league to the westward of Valletta is situated Casal Nasciar, which is perched upon a steep hilltop, and forms a good type of an ordinary Maltese village. Its stone church is nearly two centuries old, and contains some interesting relics. The people native here claim for their ancestors that they were the first in the group to receive Christian baptism, a matter which they deem to be of immense importance. Just outside of the village there is a statue of St. Paul, who is said to have preached upon the spot where it stands. The site of this Casal Nasciar is peculiar, being upon the summit of a great geological "fault," of which there are two or three striking examples in the group. The view from this village is far-reaching and beautiful, embracing certain portions of the island which are under high cultivation.
One sees a different people in these interior towns or villages, the inhabitants being more thoroughly Maltese than those of cosmopolitan Valletta. After once looking upon the rich and fertile plains of Nasciar, one no longer feels inclined to call Malta "only a sterile rock."
Among the peasantry, stalwart, light-haired fellows are often met, with bright faces and clear blue eyes, quite in contrast to their companions. To account for the presence here of this type, we must go back and inquire of the gallant, priestly Knights of St. John, whose elaborate vows of celibacy were thinner than the parchment on which they were written. The roads between the casals are, as a rule, excellent, the rocky surface making them, as it were, naturally macadamized; but they are so dusty as to be very trying to the eyes and lungs, impregnated as the atmosphere is all through the dry season with the fine silex of the friable surface rock. The dwellings of the people are flat-roofed and all of stone, the abundant native material.
To reach Città Vecchia from the present capital of Malta, one leaves Valletta by the Porta Reale, the outlet of the city proper toward the country. The town is closed by three gates,—that which has just been named, the Porta Marsamuscetto, leading to Quarantine Harbor, and the Marina Gate, conducting to Grand Harbor. Having crossed the broad drawbridge which spans the deep, wide, artificial ditch, on looking back one realizes how thoroughly the city proper is cut off from inland access when this drawbridge is raised. There is no part of the elaborate system of engineering for defensive purposes which does not seem to be as nearly perfect as is possible for such works. The entire design is masterly, and the consummation admirable.
After crossing into Floriana, we are still surrounded by a cordon of elaborate fortifications, demi-lunes, curtains, and ditches. This suburb is so named for the engineer who planned this curious and intricate maze of ravelins and bastions. This was Pietro Paolo Floriani. The place might have been thus appropriately called on account of its gardens, verdure, and flowers. As soon as the bridge is crossed, there lies before us a level space designed for military parades, an esplanade large enough for manœuvring two or three thousand troops. The ditch which separates the city from Floriana is intended as a final barrier to any invasion from the land side; it is nearly a thousand yards long, sixty feet deep, and thirty wide, cut out of the natural rock, and reaches from Quarantine to Grand Harbor.
It is customary for strangers coming hither to visit the church of San Publio, a curious old sanctuary full of altars, pictures, and cheap images, together with any amount of tawdry gilding. Here one sees innumerable emblems, such as arms, legs, ears, feet, and hands, represented in wax, silver, and wood, hanging upon the walls, thus placed as thank-offerings for cures experienced by various sufferers. So the temples of Japan represented centuries ago, and do so still, a similar custom, each emblem being specially dedicated to the deity or spirit which received credit for the donor's cure.
The streets of Floriana intersect each other at right angles. The central and principal one, Strada Santa Anna, is a broad thoroughfare, with attractive and sheltering arcades on either side. In the Piazza Maggiore is the Soldier's and Sailor's Home, an excellent charitable institution, furnished with a good serviceable library, a reading and writing room, smoking and other rooms. This admirably conceived and philanthropic organization is calculated to greatly benefit and improve the class for whom it is designed, affording them not only respectable accommodations, but occupation for their leisure hours. There is a similar institution in the city proper, which we should not fail to mention. It is situated in the Strada Cavaliere, "Street of the Knights," forming a resort for sailors, soldiers, and marines, and conducing to their moral and intellectual improvement. It is very judiciously managed by a committee of European citizens, and to strangers is certainly significant of the spirit of progress which seems to prevail among the officials at Malta.
There is a well-arranged theatre in Floriana, the Princess, where amateur performances mostly occupy the stage. The botanical gardens of this section afford a charming exhibition of a floral and arboreal character, where the genial climate seconds the tasteful efforts of the intelligent florist. This suburb of the capital contains many fine dwellings, shops, and manufacturing establishments. There are also extensive barracks, and one or two regiments of English infantry are always quartered here.
In Floriana are situated the numerous spacious vaults, cut out of the solid rock, for the storage of grain to support the garrison and populace in case Malta were compelled to sustain a long siege. Here, too, are the catacombs belonging to the old Capuchin convent, founded in 1588, where the dead bodies of the brotherhood are preserved, clad in their usual robes and arranged in sitting postures, filling nooks in the walls. Here and thus they remain for many, many years, until the slow process of decay crumbles both body and bones to dust. This is a Sicilian idea early imported into these islands, "a custom," we should say, "more honored in the breach than the observance." These dreary, cadaverous corpses are supported in the positions which they are made to assume by means of steel wires hidden beneath their scanty robes. If this strange mode of disposing of human bodies after death has any really worthy and reasonable purpose, or if it is of any possible advantage to the quick or the dead, we are too obtuse to believe it. Sightseers call a visit to the sepulchral chamber, "going to see the Baked Monks," it being generally believed that the bodies go through some toasting or drying process which preserves them.
About the walls of this mortuary chamber myriads of bleached human bones of beings who died centuries ago are fantastically arranged. From this collection ghostly skulls peer at the visitor with a sort of derisive, satanic grin. Perhaps it will be argued that all this is calculated to suggest the fleeting nature of earthly things, but the moral is too far-fetched. The uncanny smell of the place still haunts us, like the mummy flavor from certain receptacles in Cairo and Alexandria. We were told that this mode of disposing of the deceased monks had been discontinued, that they were now buried like other bodies after death, and that the Church of Rome tolerated such exposure of the mortal remains of the faithful simply as a check to human pride. "To this complexion must we come at last." We were not convinced by the explanation of the propriety or desirability of these mummy exhibitions.