Not with a bang

Joe Scicluna: Malta Surrendered, Allied Publications, 2011, 360 pp.

Joseph Scicluna has made a valuable contribution to Melitensia with this intriguing translation of Pierre-Jean Doublet’s memoirs, Malta Surrendered.

Presenting a detailed record of island life during the decadence of the knights and their ultimate expulsion at the hands of Napoleon Bonaparte, this is the first time an easily accessible English-language version of the text has been available.

What makes a man turn traitor? Why would the Grandmaster’s friend and confidant turn collaborator with Napoleon Bonaparte’s invading forces? The book brings to life the often misunderstood world of 18th century Malta.

Under the dying light of the Order of St John, social change creeps in across the sea from the continent and what was once an admired and highly dedicated group of men, drawn from Europe’s ruling echelons, somehow falls under the weight of its own Baroque splendour.

The book contains helpful contents devised by the translator, making specific events and anecdotes easy to find. There’s the story of Malta’s first Masonic Lodge, with Doublet sneering at aspirations to “high philosophy” while at the same time enjoying the hazing of a terrified initiate.

The man is obviously conflicted, caught half way between a realistic account of the historical situation and his own attempts at exculpation.

What really makes the book worthwhile to anybody who doesn’t have a specific interest in the period or in Melitensia, is its wonderful readability and the character of the man who shines through.

Scicluna has done a great job in capturing the self-assured, civilised and often ironic tone that make this memoir as much about getting to know Doublet as it is about exploring the times in which he lived.

I haven’t enjoyed a memoir so much since reading those of Duc de Saint-Simon (maybe Frenchmen make better memoirists?) and both have that same liberal sprinkling of wit and bitter-sweetness.

The reader is left to wonder if Doublet’s claims that he opposed Bonaparte’s takeover are indeed the truth (or a convenient revision decades after the fact) and whether the ways Doublet came to blame Napoleon for his trechery are an exercise in sophistry, or the earnest plea of an honest man.

This far down the road, with a clearer picture of the repercussions of the French invasion of Malta, perhaps it hardly matters either way. The document must stand or fall primarily as a literary artefact, and in this case both translator and author come together seamlessly.

The Machiavellian plots, the decipherment of Grand Master Hompesch’s secret code, the tone vacillating between vindication and self-pity are elements that make this book a pleasure to read.

There are off-hand references to “virtuous and poor brides” who are secretly given a dowry by the Order, Papal sanctions for knights mortgaging property to the University to pay off gambling debts, and a moving account of the Grand Master’s demands to Napoleon that the “relics, archives and silver” of the Order be kept intact, if they are to preserve any dignity at all.

Scicluna’s translation also includes Poussielgue’s short report to General Bonaparte on the political situation prevailing in Malta briefly before the arrival of the French army.

Napoleon is said to have remarked that “a celebrated people lose their dignity upon a closer look”. Quite the contrary – the history of Malta, the people and the knights expands in humanity and fascination the deeper we go.

What looked small from without is infinite within, revealing layers that encourage further investigation. Doublet’s memoir is an important account of those crucial moments between the acts, and the lives most keenly affected by them.

The publishers wish to point out that, through an oversight, they failed to credit Edwin Galea as the artist who painted the picture carried on the front cover of this book. The omission is regretted.