Our good Padre Parisi’s cautionary tale about Agostino Grimaldi and his Maltese temptations made full use of all the trite Adam and Eve stereotypes in the repertoire.

It is womankind who is the ruin of all virtue. It is they who tempt man, they who put his resolve in crisis. For a man to survive the traps of feminine lust, Satan’s favourite tool, only heroic resistance counted.

Parisi reluctantly concedes that le femmine non nascono impure e lascive (women are not born impure and lascivous), but they easily become so the moment the occasion beckons. Woman is intrinsically the more sensual, she is debased nature’s magnet to sin. The dogmas of the more threadbare prejudices of moral theology peddled in the pre- and post-Tridentine age are all here, alive and well.

I guess I know what you’re thinking, and so was I. Agostino’s mother-worship, his morbid, almost physical closeness to her, his exquisite feminine features, his unusual passion for refined music and poetry, his almost brutal rejection of women (he never showed any interest in girls, and objected to wedding feasts and receptions as there young ladies would dress elegantly and seductively)...

But quite likely it may not be so at all. He had no close male friends and hated all effeminacy in men. When, as a pretty young lad, he was invited to act the part of girls in amateur theatricals and dress up in female clothes, as was very normal in the 17th century, he indignantly refused, ranting against the sinfulness of effeminacy in everyone, more so in those who aspired to be soldiers of Christ. The fact that he actually feared women shows his rapport with them was anything but indifferent.

When living in Vittoriosa, he succumbed to paranoid extremes. Next door to his home were some poor rooms in which two beautiful and virtuous girls lived. This disturbed him to the extent that he went to their landlord and struck a deal with him to have them evicted. He then offered the rooms for free to two decrepit hags, beggars well past seduction age.

And when, like everyone else in Malta, he was invited out to the popular feasts of St Martin and of St Gregory to join in the universal revelry, he always feigned some illness per liberarsi dalla vista delle male donne che in quel giorno fanno lascive pompe delle loro vanità (to avoid the sight of those evil women who on that day make a lascivious display of their vanities).

Padre Parisi’s well-over-the-top panegyric regarding Malta gives an idea of the flavour of his prose:

“Oh island, the scent of whose magnificence is more treasured than that of the roses you produce, so praised by Cicero, and whose perfume is so exquisite.

“Malta is called the Queen of the Islands, which are caressed by the Libyan Sea, as she exceeds them all in greatness and nobility because, (besides the glory left to it by St Paul) today she hosts in it the Grand Master of the Order of St John, and the flower of the Jerosolimitan youth, whose valour has already vanquished twice the barbaric pride of Turkish defiance.

“The most gentle knights who live there have manners so gracious that it seems that this island carries, from the Greeks, the name of Malta derived from honey.

“She was, for its greatest happiness, donated in the year 1522, by the universally acknowledged generosity of Charles V, that phoenix of all heroes, to the knights of St John, and, illuminated by their dominion over her, she became the most noble school in which the warriors of Christ learn to battle for their faith.

“She became an illustrious seminary for heroes who carry throughout the whole world, on the wings of fame, the name of the Hospitaller Order, the invincible summit of the faith, to which they bring back their triumphs, and before which the defiant boldness of the Turks reverently bows its head.

“Powerful castle in which fatigueless watch not one, but an infinite number of Mars the god, zealots for the honour of God and of the Christian Religion. Heaven on earth of the Church, protected from the deceit of the Ottoman serpent, with the swords of so many heroes taking over from the Seraphim. Swords that can be seen as forged in fire for the fervour with which they are wielded by these valiant knights.

“An island, in brief, to which all the countries of the Christian world send the noble sons of their families, to mark, not with a noble gem their own fortune, but, with a white cross, their joy.”

Now pause, take three deep breaths, and treat yourself to a double espresso.

Grimaldi’s letters from Malta to his family in Sicily give a rare insight into the everyday life of a young knight on the island

Padre Parisi tried hard to make use of what he thought was elegant Italian, but he frequently lapses into heavy Sicilian, especially in the doubling of some consonants, particularly the ‘g’. He writes baggio la mano, doppo pranzo, Padre Luiggi, rubbato il cuore, un grande eloggio, bruggiare le bandiere, le chiome aggitate and in preggiato servizio. And then, when Italian calls for a double consonant, he economises: femine.

He acknowledged Grimaldi’s language refinement: the lad did not write Sicilianised Italian, but Latino e Toscano – aristocrats then identified purity of language with the way the natives of Tuscany handled Italian. Finding the Latin statutes of the Order too cumbersome, Grimaldi wrote a briefer summary in Italian, for everyday use by knights, with the intent of publishing his work. Early death prevented this.

Grimaldi’s letters from Malta to his family in Sicily give a rare insight into the everyday life of a young knight on the island. While official records abound, personal, private writings of knights of the 17th century prove to be extremely scarce.

In 1657 he writes home, in his hearty, educated Italian, almost clean of Sicilian dialect, how he spent his days in Malta. He addresses his mother obsequiously as Vossignoria, or Signora Madre and says he is obeying her order to recount in detail all the lessons and exercises he went through at the house of the Castellano d’Amposta, who had offered him hospitality next door to him. A wise and pious old knight, the Castellano d’Amposta’s name, Fra Vincenzo Carroz, often recurs in the chronicles of the Order.

On Sundays, almost a holiday, he went, with all his comrades and the castellan to the Palace, to far la corte and to accompany His Eminence the Grand Master, together with all his retinue of knights, to St John’s Co-Cathedral, and then back from church to the Palace. St John’s was then almost completely bare of the splendid artefacts and adornments we today take for granted. Mattia Preti, then on the eve of his stay in Malta, had not yet started his revolutionary decoration of the temple.

After church, Grimaldi travelled back with the castellan to their home, where they had lunch at the appointed hour, not one moment earlier, nor one later. With lunch over, the young knight returned to join the entourage of the Grand Master almost every day, wherever he dined, to be present while Martin de Redin was having his meal. After, he returned home and whiled the time writing, reading or in conversation (pious or erudite) with other knights.

In the afternoons, Grimaldi attended his mathematics lessons (one of the Grimaldis had published works on advanced mathematics), which were held every day except Sundays, and with those over, he went for a walk with the others, who were almost all knights, either to the waterfront, or took a boat or strolled in the piazza of the Palace.

At the ringing of the Ave Maria, he was always back home, and 30 minutes later they had dinner. He must have felt familiar with the wine. The knights in Malta mostly served Nero d’Avola at table. The rest of the evening he spent in conversation with the other knights. The mathematics lessons almost certainly were the courses in navigational theory, heavily based on the knowledge of numbers.

On Mondays the young novices followed the routine of Sundays, as they did on all other days except Wednesday when, in the morning and in the evening the Italian novices served in the hospital.

Grimaldi went to Mass almost daily, in the company of Fra Vincenzo Carroz, who truly lived the Christian life. Monday evenings they spent in musket training sessions held in the square of the Palace with all the novices taking part.

Tuesday was a day of rest, and so were Thursdays, except that in the evening the novices trained with the halberd or pike, again on Palace square.

The timetable reserved Friday for a complete holiday, with Saturday again set apart for musket training done with the palla al merco (?) in the long ditch behind certain forts.

Then Grimaldi put in a word of reassurance to his mother: “Malta is a very different place from what it is reputed to be, because here virtue is exercised more than anywhere else, and especially a novice has perforce to be a good person, and I will try my utmost to edify the masters of the novices.”

If, as appears almost certain, Grimaldi lived in Vittoriosa next door to Carroz, could he have travelled to Valletta and back four times in a day, as he claims he regularly did on Sundays? Or did a fast boat service link the two cities, always available on call?

De Redin took an instant liking to the new knight with the gentle and refined manners, a devouring craving for knowledge and a pensive disposition. The Grand Master shared his own solid gold cup with Grimaldi for them to drink wine together from it. And when once he received from France a gift of perfumed gloves, he wanted Grimaldi to have them. Perfumed leather gloves then counted as the very expensive summit of fashion and sophistication.

In Malta, Grimaldi distinguished himself by his devout and humble service in the Sacra Infermeria. He reported for nursing duty even when he was very unwell or injured.

All knights had to take part in tending the sick and the destitute – it formed part of their weekly duties. For many it would have been just that – a duty, to be done and got on with. But for Grimaldi, nursing the diseased and the incurables represented much more than that. For him, we are told, every sick person in bed was Jesus Christ himself.

This may account for another bizarre idiosyncrasy in our young knight on the sanctity of the human body, physical envelope of the soul. He never uncovered his body or allowed anyone to see it. That included doctors, who he would not suffer to examine him. When they prescribed medicaments or treatments that had to be applied to any hidden part of his anatomy, he refused them and requested they be replaced by others which would not offend his sense of modesty.

From Malta, Grimaldi took part in several naval campaigns, before the last fatal one, two carovane on the Order’s ships being quite routine for every young novice.

The first, in 1657, was an expedition to Rhodes, the old home of the Order of St John. The knights captured rich booty from the enemy, some vessels too, and set free many Christian slaves. The adrenaline reached critical levels in Grimaldi’s bloodstream; higher, it seems, than when the gorgeous courtesan had striven so epically to bed him. Two years later he took part in an expedition to Corfu by the combined Christian fleet sent by the Pope to help the Venetians always under threat of siege in that strategic island.

The war of Candia (Crete) proved fatal for the young Grimaldi, who by then had been promoted padrone of the galera capitana of the Order. The island had belonged to Venice until conquered by the Turks in 1645. The Order’s seven galleys had joined up with those of Tuscany, Venice and, most exceptionally, with those of France, a traditional friend and trading partner of the Ottoman Turks, in a plan to reconquer the island.

In all, the Christians had put together an army of 8,000 soldiers and a thousand knights of various Orders. The knights of St John landed 400 soldiers under 70 knights – Grimaldi among them – led by Fra Antonio Correa Montenegro.

Grimaldi wrote one last brief letter to his mother, a few hours before he died, and its tone, encumbered with death, is disturbing indeed: “You, my lady mother, now find your peace. Supposing that I had lived hundreds of years, I would never have had the glorious fortune of dying for the holy faith. I beg your blessing over this our last embrace. Now adieu. In the waters of Candia, on August 23, 1660. Your most obedient son on the way to become eternity.”

This last poignant phrase became the subject of the pictorial frontispiece of the book which includes an engraving of the Christian fleet laying siege to Crete, with Suda in the foreground.

The following day, shortly after turning 21, Grimaldi, fighting “like a lion”, was hit during an assault on the small fortress of Santa Veneranda, by a Turkish musket ball which entered over one hip and went out through the other. The Turk who shot him was then killed by Grimaldi’s companions, and his head lopped off and taken as a gory trophy to the generalissimo of the Christian armada.

Considering his age, Grimaldi’s friends entertained hope he would survive. But after seven hours of excruciating agony, his spirit gave up. He expired in the arms of the Prior della Bagnara, Fra Fabrizio Ruffo, later admiral of the Order. Before he died, he gave his confessor all his religious and literary writings he had with him on the ship, with a request that they be burned.

Shortly after turning 21, Grimaldi, fighting ‘like a lion’, was hit during an assault on the small fortress of Santa Veneranda, by a Turkish musket ball

His brother Hospitallers buried his corpse, with undisguised melancholy, in the church run by the friars of St Augustine, in the fortress of Suda. They reused a grave already occupied by another knight of St John who had died a century before. A Maltese historian asserts that Grimaldi lies interred in St John’s in Valletta, but that is evidently a fantasy.

His was such a waste of life. Grimaldi seems to have been one of the very few to die in this inconsequential campaign (another was the admiral Francesco Grassi). The official history only mentions his name fleetingly, while the formal report to the Council by the knight François Bretel de Gremonville merely says that the padrone of the Order’s capitana was hit by a musket shot and died later – no names.

With the scarce forces at their disposal, the commanders of the Christian expedition realised they would never be able to expunge the highly fortified La Canea, and they withdrew, crestfallen. The Turks continued to retain Crete in the Ottoman Empire up to 1898.

Grimaldi’s death was mourned by many, not least his creditors. The Order had a procedure in place for those who claimed money from dead knights: the spoglio. A special commission processed their credits. When news of Grimaldi’s death reached Malta, a number of people came forward to assert that the deceased knight owed them money.

His landlord, Ambrogio Vella from Vittoriosa, queued first in line. He swore Grimaldi still owed him eight scudi for two months’ unpaid rent. He summoned two witnesses, Gużeppi Sant and Francesco Reynaldos, who confirmed that Grimaldi lived in Vittoriosa in rooms hired from Vella, but they were unaware if he was up to date with his rent or not.

The commissioners did not hide their scepticism for Vella’s claim, as rent was always paid in advance, not in arrears, and believed the Maltese landlord was trying to pull a fast one and take advantage of the knight’s death abroad. They emphatically rejected his demand.

Fra Giovanni Valera, another knight, probably Spanish, claimed 20 scudi, the price of a length of black velvet which Grimaldi had bought to fashion the inner lining of a mantle (here called ferraiolo or the more archaic ongarina). Antonietta Goggi, Giovanni Ortolano and Antonio Mifsud all confirmed knowledge of the purchase of this cloth.

And finally, Veronica Maggi had in her hands two bills of exchange for 31 scudi issued by Grimaldi in favour of Claudio Maggi. Paolo Tholossenti, bookkeeper of the galera capitana, of which Grimaldi had been padrone, confirmed the authenticity of the two bills and certified Grimaldi’s signature on them. Cesare Passalaqua, a prominent businessman, is mentioned in both of them. These bills contain the only autograph signatures of Grimaldi that I know of: ‘Fra Don Augustino Grimaldi e Russo’. The commissioners of the spogli approved both these claims.

An engraving inserted in his biography preserves Grimaldi’s image, accurate to the point of recording his three beauty spots and their exact placing. A large portrait in oils, today in a public collection in Modica, depicts the young hero at his finest. He ranks as a minor glory of that town.

The portrait was painted posthumously by an unknown artist who asked Grimaldi’s mother to sit for him, as the two were reputed to be spit images of each other. It shows the knight in full gala vestments of the Order of Malta, though not in military armour, as a warrior would normally be depicted.

He holds one glove in his hand, and this may symbolise either of two things: one glove on its own is the chivalric code to signify that the sitter is dead. Alternatively, it could recall the precious gift of perfumed gloves given by Grand Master de Redin to Grimaldi. The brass sackbut trumpets pointing downwards symbolise tragic fame.

Acknowledgements
My thanks to Salvo Bonfirraro, Maroma Camilleri, Dr Theresa Vella, Mgr Dun Ġwann Azzopardi, Mario Gauci of the Cathedral Archives and Dr Mark Sammut.

(Concluded)