In 1715, Claudio D’Amico, a young Maltese gentleman and an eligible one to boot, was soon to be married. It is more than likely that he felt the time had come for him to spruce up his appearance, and so he went to his tailor. By a stroke of good fortune the tailor’s bills have survived and they give us a detailed glimpse of another Malta, another world. Claudio’s portrait exists too, and it is exciting to surmise that the clothes he wears in the painting can actually be attributed with more than a degree of possibility to a specific Maltese tailor of the 18th century!
The tailor’s name was Michelangelo Mallia, and to all intents and purposes he was a good, efficient, upright and honest craftsman. His trade depended on others who delivered the tools of his craft: there were needles and buttons and buckles and hooks and the all-important weaver’s produce, in fact, all the materials he needed to make clothing. On occasion, Michelangelo would provide a weaver with a little extra silk to weave into the lengths of cotton or wool material he had requested in order to create something a little more lustrous and even perhaps more costly looking. There is clear evidence of this in his bills: he says on one occasion with regard to a frock-coat made of stamina (which is a fine mixture of wool and silk) that, “ho fornito seta onc: una” (I have supplied one ounce of silk).
The date of the first bill is 15 April 1715 and this testifies to Claudio D’Amico being delivered of un guistacor (frock-coat), vesta (waistcoat), and broghi di veluto (velvet breeches). Apart from his ounce of silk, Michelangelo Mallia also provided six palmi sangallo (six hand palm lengths of needle lace). The sangallo was probably either for a jabot or else for cuffs. The tailor also requested a refund for filo e candele e tornaollo (wicks and candle-wax and spinning). The spinning could have been sub-contracted and made elsewhere. Then, finally he charged all of three scudi for his work.
Under British dominion in Malta, the scudo was valued at one shilling and eight pence or one twelfth of a pound. In more modern terms, that would amount to 8.3 new pence or perhaps five Malta cents: about 15 cents for the job. Perhaps we should think in terms of a gold standard – we shall come to that later.
Claudio was married the following year. It was a good marriage. He was, it should not be forgotten, the son of Ersilea Eufrasia Fiott Farrugia Inguanez and his father was the holder of the wealthy Castelletti estate. He would, of course, need lots of clothes, and Michelangelo Mallia, with all his zeal and skill, provided him with what he needed for the next 23 years. In the meantime, Claudio fathered several children, among them one archdeacon of the Cathedral, two Barons of Diar-il-Bniet and Buqana, and his daughter Orsola, who would one day become the grandmother of Malta’s only Prince of the Church, Fabrizio Cardinal Sceberras Testaferrata.
It is possible that the patron-client relationship between Claudio D’Amico and Michelangelo Mallia lasted longer than the 23 years covered by the surviving bills. However, what we do know is that after 23 years, Claudio at last, decided to pay off his tailor’s bill in one fell swoop, or, as was the expression then meaning “in full settlement”, in saldo. We have that final big bill which includes earlier orders from previous years, it amounted globally to something over 66 scudi, about two and a half liri, and if we now seriously think in terms of gold, say nearly five sovereigns, or perhaps about 300 Malta liri, for which Claudio had the following made:
Three capes, 18 frock-coats, two frock-coats for his elder son, one frock-coat for his younger son, two jackets, 17 pairs of breeches, two pairs of breeches for his eldest son, one pair of breeches for his younger son, one silk damask dressing-gown, 11 waistcoats, two waistcoats for his elder son, one waistcoat for his younger son, two shirts (these may have been special as
others could have been made by a seamstress or at home by all those girls who had nothing to do all day!), one shirt repaired, one cap, one black velvet collar, various pieces of lace supplied probably for cuffs and jabots, four waistbands, one soutane, one soutane for his son and an unknown quantity of buttons.
Included in the bill were some clothes for Claudio’s slaves: one pair of breeches, two soutanes, two caps and more buttons.
Although he was not being supplied with all the materials by Michelangelo Mallia, he did get pieces of lace and quite a lot of silk and even buttons that form part of his bill. He had to pay for candles “per filo e candeli’” in case Michelangelo was working at night, and our tailor seems to be making it quite clear that he is making no profit, but only being paid for the work he has done.
Claudio was spending what in modern terms would be about Lm10 a year to keep him up there in the dignity of his exalted position. He paid his bill to a most grateful and respectful tailor who had worked for him regularly for more than two-and-a-half decades!
A lady and her purchases
Eugenia de Piro was the daughter of Felicissimo Antonio de Piro, who had died well before his father, the first Baron of Budach. Her brother Vincenzo provided for her after her grandfather died in 1752. This same brother is an historical figure in Maltese history because he was elected to be one of the signatories on behalf of the Maltese people after the Hompesch debacle. Eugenia was apparently a prolific purchaser of clothes. While one must always envisage the girls being accomplished and working away within the family circle, she was sending a good number of bills to her brother, who kept them among his accounts. Many have survived and from bills dating between 1752 and 1756 a quantity of interesting information comes to light.
Eugenia had a new faldetta made – the bill says fattura della faldetta. The actual cost of the manual labour was four tari, not even half a scudo. She bought a pittiglia, or you could call it a piastra. Piastra, was, to all intents and purposes, both an adopted, and then adapted Maltese word, a word now lost, or almost, it was the pettorino – a usually ornate triangular breast-piece around which a lady’s dress was designed. You can see them in all the Favray female portraits. Some have survived and are very fine indeed.
Eugenia bought so many things, possibly not only for herself but also for Vincenzo’s household:
Palmi sei e mezzo stamina – 6½ hands-length of a fine wool and silk mixture, Tela di Francia grisa fina – French grey fine woven wool, balena – whalebone stiffeners, seta e corchetti – silk spools, fattura di un gilecco – bill for making a bodice, zagarella di seta per due cinte – ribbon for two belts, un casso di seta – a casso is a bodice without sleeves, tela di Levante – this is silk, baietta – this is woven wool for making sleeves, breeches and hose, due lazzi di seta nera – black laces (the word has survived in Maltese), zendalina di Fiorenza – ribbons in yellow Florence silk, seta gialla mezz’onza – half an ounce of yellow silk, seta grigia palmi sette – seven hands of grey silk (sometimes it was weight and sometimes it was length), tela ruà celeste – blue corduroy or cord du roi, fattura d’un vestito di Siviglia fiorita color di mosco (making a dress in flower printed musk material).
As we can see from the Claudio D’Amico bill, it is possible that tradesmen, in order to keep their clients, would tell them that there was no hurry for payment. “Sinjur, it’s all saved up with you.”
When a purchaser did decide to pay off a bill, there was a bit of a problem, especially if the tailor or seamstress was illiterate. There were no cheques, and who is to say who made a cross on the receipt after you had handed over gold or silver coins?
We have two good examples with Eugenia, who was not taking any chances. One receipt says – “4 July 1742 the present sum of 10 scudi, nine tari and 10 grani was received by Suor Maria Clara Bianchi”. It seems that the convents and monasteries made receipts which were literate and acceptable documents in the 18th century. One must surmise also that the convents had the time and skills available to produce extra income by taking orders for mending or accomodatura, making adjustments. As for imbasta di una faldetta at only four tari, this was “putting together but not finishing” say a faldetta – all nice and easy for the young girls at home to continue with and keep occupied.
Eugenia paid a large bill on 3 January 1757. It was in excess of 27 scudi and probably covered a fair amount of time – the money was paid in saldo in settlement and the receipt was signed by the Signor Canon Guglielmo Rossi and witnessed by Giorgio Psaila and Aloisio Schembri.
When Eugenia was delivered of her yellow ribbon or zendalina “by the hand of one Francesco Schembri”, sometimes referred to as mastro, a word which gives him status and authority within his class, she made a note that survives, saying that she owed the merchants, trader or even shopkeeper mercadante [sic.] Aloisio Schembri (probably Francesco’s relative) the money. I have not, as yet, managed to trace the name of a woman seamstress, and certainly not one running a business.
In due course, it may well transpire that convents did employ a number of lay people for this kind of work and also that Giorgio Psaila and the Schembris did the dealing while their wives and families did the sewing. This is guesswork, and one should stop at this point. We do have some very pertinent facts: Suor Maria Clara Bianchi was certainly receiving money and was clearly allowed to deal with the public.
Somewhere, within conventual and monastic archives perhaps, somewhere sitting on shelves in some ancient house are bundles, dusty bundles feeding the bugs maybe, but somewhere the possibility and the means of tracing more domestic historical documentation certainly exists. The rewards are heartening for, after all, we have seen the paintings, prints and watercolours, and we are now starting to take an interest in the relics of costume, so important a factor in discovering and establishing our identity. I hope we are all curious enough to learn a little more and to want to catch a clearer glimpse of daily life in this our land once upon a time ago.
Acknowledgements:
Dott Fabiana Gorassini; Dott. Sara Iachini, Dr Carmel Cassar, Dr Vicki Ann Cremona, Peter Bartolo Parnis, Evelyn Baluci; and Sandro Debono
Marquis de Piro is the author of several books, including The International Dictionary of Artists who painted Malta, The Temple of the Knights of Malta, and The Quality of Malta.
This article first appeared in the Easter 1997 issue of Treasures of Malta, which is published by Fondazzjoni Patrimonju Malti. Treasures of Malta is a magazine about art and culture that is published three times a year, and is available from all leading bookshops.
This is the first in a series of articles taken from Treasures of Malta that will be featured weekly in TMID.