IN THE WAKE OF THE RISING SUN.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXIX, Issue 5, 31 January 1901, Page 5

IN THE WAKE OF THE RISING SUN.

By ' viatok.'

S.S. Syrian Prince, Off Alexandria. Nov. 26, 1900. Otfß good ship tripped lightly down the canal from Tunis to the port of Goulette in the evening of Wednesday, 21st November, the while long shafts of sunshine, soft and luxurious and golden, sped athwart our weather bows. Flushed in carmine, glowed the low lying clouds to westward, as we bowled right down the narrow channel flanked by low sand-hills, with here and there a turret top, or fort, or barracks till we swerve to eastward round the light-house and dip into the filmy wavelets of the Mediterranean, and stand out to sea all taut for MALTA. Never a billow to roll on, never a ' cradle of the deep ' to rock in as the ' Syrian Prince ' ploughs the oily sea, and scatters the delicate, fretwork tracery of our sleepy high-way — still in the wake of the rising sun. And there is and to spare for mental rumination in the vanished glories of Carthage, the great city that wa »— now the shadow of a great name, still in her vanished glories telling with no uncertain ring that there were verily giants in those days. But their glory is fled, save where it rises afreah in the enthusiasm of the onlooker ; and nought remains to chisel their worth : 1 'Tis worth that makes the man The want of it the fellow ' : Nought but stratified ruins crumbling to their first elements under commonplace hillockß of sand— ' The earth hath bubblesjas the water has, And we are of them.' So wrote the Master in Macbeth. Malta we made just after sundown on Thursday, November 22. In the early afternoon the islet of Gozo loomed dull on the horizon, but shot up, as we drew nearer, in arid, forbidding cliffs, lifting in patchy terraces to the summit. Gozo, Cotnino, Cominotto, and Malta are a group of island sisters with just abyss enough fixed between to call for the friendly boatmen — all standing out against and above their deep blue setting in dull, muddy, careworn relief with struggling patches of verdure, and lovely olives to soften the jagged slopes. Running by the tinier sibtera, and beckoned onwards by the imposing height of Malta— the watch tower of the Mediter-auean, bristling with citadel and fort, we glide easily over a sea of ghv«3 into the harbor — a fairy vision, in the gathering darkness, of lights and twinkling lamps that like restless fireflies gleam and flit •thwart the magnificent harbor. We are at Valetta. Tiny gondolas, gigs and dingies, and more pretentious and graceful launches peer and glint from under the beetling bulwarks of jrrim warships— for the fleet is here— and like glowworms in action, stealthy and noiseless and quick, run under our bows and alongside till we reach our mooriDgs and drop anchor amid the forest of masts in the harbor. We too are soon in the thick of the pirouetting fireflies, en route to the landing stage, catching the time, sweet strains of pipe and mandoline, and soft voices in rise and fall with the cadence of the ■©•-proud monopoly and rich heritage of the Latin races that dally

still mid the memories of the classic past. Bright costumes patrol the road, toned here and there by the floimrtla— dark hood and flowing: mantle of sombre black, the disti'ugui <hing, if to our eyes unffisthetic, garb of the Maltese lady. Up t,hc stiff incline to the Strada Reale— chief artery of Valetta— ,u>\v brilliant iv electric light, down into a bye-street, and wo are at the 'ponderous gatea and massy bar ' of the episcopal palac*. Though unceremoniously late, we are kindly received by the venerable prelate— I Bishop of Malta and titular Archbishop of Rhodes— Mgr. l'ietro Pace, who greets us with welcoming smile, blesses us, and spoaka to iis in English, with comparative p«=^ of bi« i.<l<m<l h PP o f our nilcrimage to the Holy Places, of distant countries, of the historic memories of Malta. With a far-avray look in hi« *>yo«, be told ns that in the long ago he was class-fellow at Rome of hia Eminence Cardinal Moran, and that he follows with pride end affection the apostolic labors in far Australia of the illustrious and learned Archbishop of Sydney. Of others, too, he spoke, but his cares and love are fixed on his own people in Malta. We would fain go, for tho hour was unceremonious ; and we would fain stay, for the interchange of ideas with the venerable prelate waa a privilege and a treat. He would, however, courteously insist on tracing for us an itinerary for the morrow, and on placing at our disposal a local ecclesiastic to pilot us with economy of time through the interesting sights of the island. Another favor ere we left was the likeness of his Grace, duly autographed, a copy to each, valued souvenir of our visit. PLACES OF INTEREST. Next morning very early— 6.3o of the clock— we had Mass in St. John's and duly inspected in detail the monument of the Knights, chapels, treasures presses, carved stalls, pillars— all speaking proof of the manifest piety that in the har J days of conflict between the Cross and the Crescent tempered with active faith and devotion the belligerent lives of the Knights of St. John. Though an ordinary week day— feast of St. Clement— we could not but note the numbers of men and women, rich and poor, that filed in in ceaseless numbers to assist at the Holy Sacrifi-c. M.ilta. corruption of Melita, so called by the Greeks from the quantity of honey found here, has known many masters in the ages— Phoenicians, Greeks, Carthaginians, Romans, Arabs, Saracens, Germans, French, Aragonese, Knights of St. John, and finally, after a short occupation by the first Napoleon, who despoiled the churches of much of their treasures, passed into the hands of the English in 1800. But the people are essentially Maltese, fusing but little with the Teuton, and though English and Italian are the recognised tongues, cleave with tenacity to this Arabic medium. It is a ' tight little island,' 20 miles in length by 12 miles in breadth, and has an area of 98 square miles in all. Yet poor as is the soil and narrow the limits, and few the avenues of life, the^e little islands boast a population of 180,000 people— all or nearly all Catholics. We strolled through the luxuriant gardens of the palace of San Antonio, rich in orchids, palms, oraa^e, and citron trees, and trod the apartments once sacred to the Kuights of M ilta. Notabile or Citta Vecchia, perched on a hill of sand or pumice, and belted by strong walls with here and there an aged turret or \\u\ch tower to mark the strong places of an earlier age, the -tnci -ut capital and the cathedral see, is an antique town brimfull of mteiest, some ten miles from Valetta. The church of tho Order, or cathedral, iv its alabaster columns from Rhodes, its lnarb c from Palermo, its shrinea and tombs and paintings and statues bring- you back to the ages of vivid and active faith. Here, too, was phown us, carefully encased, the picture of the Madonna, which tradition says was painted by St. Luke, who accompanied So. Paul on his journey to Malta. Here the Apostle consecrated St. Publiusj, first Bishop of Malta. _ Reference io made in the ' Acts of the Apostles ' to St. Paul's visit to the Island, caapter 28th, if I am not mistakou. All about Citta, Vecchia there are ineffaceable proof-, of the S.ii-ifs apostolic labors. The landing place of St. Paul— St. Paul s Bay— is shown from the walls of Citta Vecchia, the chapel where the Apostle lived and taught and baptised and offered the Holy Sicrifli-e, the catacombs where the early Christians took refuge in the early persecutions and later against the aggressions of tho Moslem, and the tombs recording the martial deeds of the men who fought and bled and died in defence of faith and hearth and home in the brave days of old. MOUSTA. A visit to Mousta on cur return was rewaideu by a look at a fine parish church rotund in shape. Here we saw the Governor with hia staff reviewing the troops in the dusty square. The armoury of Valetta is very rich in native relics and curioa : embossed suits of knightly mail ; helmets indented in front with fatal bullet ; swords and cannon, and war-worn flags that many a time and oft led the embattled ranks of the Malte&e against the invader. Here, too, in the council chamber hangs in rich folds the gobelins' tapestry of fabulouß value, lighting up by their rich perennial tints, that have stood the shock of centuries, the walls and ceilings of the palace. At the seaward end of St. Mereauti is the 'Chapel of Bones,' an underground vault-like oratory, where with ghastly ingenuity, are arranged on svall and ceiling and floor, in eerie gruesome shape, the skulla and bunos of knights of old, whose bleached remains await the final trumpet-cail, the la^t ' adbiiin 'of mortal. 1 Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken die?, The tufted crow-toe and pale jessamine, The white pink and the p^nsy freaked with jet, The glowing violet — ,' to embalm the memories of men that lived in an iron age of fierco warfare and ruthless greed— that fought the good fuht of the faith and stemmed with their bravery and their blood the onward rush of the dusky Saracen. For an exhaustive visit of Valetta and environs and some side views of Malta generally, as far as time and energy allowed, we are

under deep obligations to the Rev. Felix Ciangura who, at the kindly suggestion of the Bishop of Malta, placed time and valuable servioes at our command during our all too brief stay. Soldiers there were in evidence everywhere — not of the people popular, but proof active and cogent of the yoke of the foreigner — for the dark and olassio race that people the rock cling to their own religion, their own soft manners, their own tongue, and affect not at all the habits and speech of the Teuton. Nothing do they lose in the gentle conventions of life, in artistic grace of look and port and manner in cleaving to that native culture — bo marked in the children of the Latin faith and race. The lengthening shadows tell us that our time is up, and the great sun chat sat high in golden giory is going down in splendor more glorious still, the dock-yards are vomiting forth their hordes of swarthy workmen, the tinkling of the bells nxes our eye on droves of goats invading street and store and house bringing the evening milk, the smart gondolas n are waiting at the quays or glancing over the blue waters of the harbor, the sweet bells are pealing the early evening prayer over the roof topß, and the sunlight receding in dim haze gives no longer hope of extending our visit. A word of gratitude to our friend and guide, and we are skimming over the harbor and in quest of the ' Syrian Prince. 1 My next letter will recount in brief limits our impressions of Egypt — land of the Bphyax, land of bondage-memories and of fleshpots. land of the Menas, the Pharaohs, the Ramesea, the Ptolomies — land richest of all lands — so say the Egyptologists — in undying memorials bequeathed by dynasties which rose to lofty eminence in art, science, numbers, culture, while the West still slept, buried in the darknessa and shadow of a prehistoric age. Verily, is it well written, that the Wise Men came from the East.