19.8.14

The secret tour

Yesterday morning I headed solo into the storied city of Valletta, where I first stopped at the church of St. Paul's shipwreck. It's a fairly unobtrusive church from the street, as churches go, but inside it's a bonanza of baroque elegance. With floors of multicolored marble, altar upon altar covered with heavy silver, and statues in every nook and cranny, this church was built in part to house what is apparently an important relic- a fragment of St. Paul's right wrist. Although I still don't understand the catholic fascination with body parts, it was still an interesting stop. 

Next on my plan, a museum/house of a Maltese noble family. The family is still in residence, but have opened the main floor with the grandest rooms to the public. It's only possible to visit with a guided tour, so I waited the 20 minutes until the next tour in the pleasant courtyard garden. A magnificent blue macaw lives there, and occasionally greeted the waiting visitors with a hello and a wave of his claw, before sliding off his perch to parade around the garden. I also spotted two painted turtles floating around in the fountain. The visit was already interesting, and the tour hadn't started yet. 

Finally, an earnest young man came to collect us, and led the group inside and up the stairs. He pointed out various paintings and sculptures we passed along the way before entering a warren of rooms that wrapped around the courtyard. Each was highly decorated from tiled floor to painted ceiling, with the walls covered in gorgeous paintings. Cupboards and nooks housed all manner of curiosities- the famous Maltese silver filigree work, mementoes of the family, iron seals for stamping documents, century-old hair curlers, embroidery, perfumes, and books. Mixed in with the antiquities were the details of any lived-in home- family photos on the piano, a stereo in the corner of the library with CDs sitting out, the empty wine bottles from the last party standing by the back stairs ready for recycling. Hard to imagine living in such a home and sitting on 17th century chairs for the family dinner, but apparently it's done. 

The end of the tour finished in the former cisterns of the house, converted into a network of bomb shelters during the Second World War. I stopped in the bathroom on the way out, so I was the last of the group to leave the house. As I exited the courtyard, an older gentleman on the stairs going up asked me if I'd just toured the house, and how I'd enjoyed it. Since he was standing in front of his own painted portrait, I recognized him as the marquess himself. We got to talking, and when he learned I was a historic textile enthusiast, he offered to show me some of the bits of undisplayed textiles also housed in the building. He led me backwards through the rooms I'd just visited, stopping to offer me a spray of the vintage perfume sitting on the dressing table we had passed earlier, then around the corner to a door I hadn't noticed earlier. Inside, shelves upon shelves were stacked with boxes labeled with different garments- stockings, bodices, hats, baby bonnets, shoes. He opened the baby bonnet box, crammed with beautifully worked tiny Maltese lace caps, then we moved on to a niche I'd noticed in the dining room that had a trunk labeled with various dresses. He opened that too, and we sifted through Victorian night dresses, evening bodices, and embroidered shawls. 
Next, he ushered me into his office through another mystery door we had passed in the tour,where he opened yet more boxes of lace that he had just received- undersleeves, lappet caps, lace handkerchief borders. He showed me the book on Maltese lace he'd written and we discussed conservation techniques before he graciously excused himself to his duties and ushered me out of the house. In parting, he told me I was invited back and to just tell the front desk to let me in for free at his request, and if were ever back in Malta, he needed help with the lace inventory. 

By then I was half an hour late to meet S, and I dashed up the street to the grand palace. He was waing anxiously and was slightly peeved at my tardiness, but when I explained why, all was forgiven. We finished the afternoon with a long lunch, accompanied by the excellent Maltese white wine, on a shady staircase-street's landing.