1) This morning my first destination was supposed to be MUZA, The Malta National Community Art Museum, but I ended up standing at an intersection with a church. “Well,” I said to myself, “you’re in no hurry.” It turned out to be the Church of St. Francis of Assisi, and I had walked in during a mass. Not a very respectful time for photography or blatant tourism.
2) Quietly I sat at the far end of the back pew, listening to a responsive reading led by a woman’s voice from the front; I could not see where she was. About two dozen people my age or older were scattered the whole length of the church.
2a) I couldn’t tell if everyone was speaking in Latin or Maltese.
3) My eyes found much to interest me: the dome, paint flaking away, ringed by a gilt Latin inscription to honor St. Francis the Poor, as well as round or oval windows of yellow Maltese crosses surrounded by lavender and clear glass; the pale pink (a very delicate pink, not like anything of this century) walls alternating with blue or purplish columns, a splended mural of Christ and St. Francis on the ceiling.
3a) Appropriately for a Franciscan church, they don’t seem to be swimming in cash. Aside from the flaking dome, the crystal chandeliers around the church were so dusty they were opaque.
I call this “Last Picked for Snack Time” and “Abstract with Rice Krispie Square.”
4) I left after ten minutes or so to continue my search for MUZA. Long story short, the entrance was on a different street of the same block that Google Maps said. Along the way I passed the front door of my next door neighbor, the Prime Minister of Malta; his HQ, the Auberge de Castille, is right by the hotel!
Look how lively and joyful this figurine is!
5) MUZA is right next door, at the old Auberge d’Italie — finalmente! The galleries are curiously arranged. The ground floor consists of four or five small, low-ceilinged galleries with art of the last 100 years: portraiture, sculpture, abstracts, mostly by Maltese artists. A glass door I completely missed in the latter led the way to a fiercely modern staircase of glass and steel over the original limestone ruins to more galleries upstairs. The guard had to show me where it was!
The Family: Lord Louis Mountbatten, Prince Philip, Elizabeth II, Charles III, George VI. Keep in mind that I saw these the day before the Queen died.
6) The upstairs layout was even more curious, like a labyrinth over two levels, no clear path, several dead ends and retracings of steps. But much of interest! Early 19th century religious works, 20th century busts of the Royal Family, bits of furniture, many works by Matteo Preti (who painted much of the co-cathedral), and somewhere there was one Caravaggio.
Cain and Abel. In the words of the late Eleanor of Aquitaine, “What family doesn’t have its ups and downs?”
6a) I remember especially paintings of John the Baptist (he’s kind of a big deal here), and three paintings to do with Cain and Abel, one quite violent.
Behold!
6b) And also St. Joseph’s amazement at the Peach of Hercules. Scandalous!
7) All savvy museums force you to exit through the gift shop, and in this one the male attendant (the female attendant sold me my ticket on arrival), engaged me quite animatedly about the collection and my opinions. Alas, I was not feeling so animated, but I did take note of the many bracelets on one brawny wrist.
A charming cul-de-sac near the church.
8) Early in the afternoon, I resolved to visit one of the places I absolutely didn’t want to miss: Queen Adelaide’s Church, the Anglican Church built in the 1840s at the instigation of (and funding by) Queen Adelaide. On arrival, I was surprised to find its famous steeple covered in scaffolding! And also the side of the church that faces the sea. Oopsie! Were they closed? Nope, I just went further than the entrance.
9) When services are not taking place, tourists enter practically on the altar. And I thought it was curious that the altarpiece chosen was The Mocking of Christ, Ecce Homo. After the delicious, overwhelming baroque excess of St. John’s co-cathedral, I found this more restrained and austere church interior restful.
10) Artistic exuberance found its outlet in needlework here! Marvelous seat cushions and kneelers, all embroidered lovingly by ladies of the congregation over the years, I’m sure.
“This tablet is placed by his sorrowing parents.”
11) Many war memorials reflect Britain’s presence here in World War II, and before. More unusual, the fabric covering the walls at the back of the church had been used at the coronation of George VI.
Renew, reuse, recycle!
12) Returning to “my” neighborhood, I saw people gravitating past the stock market through an arch. “Hmm,” I say to myself, “perhaps that’s where the earth-shattering kabooms have been coming from all this time!” I arrived in Valletta only a couple days before Victory Day, September 8. Possibly the most important Maltese holiday, it commemorates the end of three — count ‘em, three! — sieges: by the Ottomans in 1565, by Napoleon in 1800, and by the Evil Axis Powers of World War II in 1943. What this meant was that I’d occasionally hear cannon fire from my fourth floor bedroom periodically, including about midnight, but from where?
13) My destination turned out to be the Upper Barrakka Garden, a sort of terraced affair, quite intimate, with a café, and an arcade of memorials overlooking the Saluting Battery where the cannons are. But instead of cannoneers, I found a wedding reception.
14) Ambling up the coast, I ended up at the Lower Barrakka Garden, which has a sort of temple memorial and a charming fountain. Also a lot more interest from the locals.
15) On the way back, I ran into Saint Swishy outside one church; see photo at the top of this entry. Really Saint James the Great with his telltale clamshell, but he is obviously so happy about his new party frock you just can’t help but love him.
