This is the second article in a two-part series. Read part one.

A very particular aspect of the Maltese corbel is known as saljatura. Despite its obvious Siculo-Italian derivation, it is still of a totally Maltese origin both as regards its etymological as much as its plastic element.

To better explain, its English equivalent, ‘corbel’, is itself emanated from the old French word meaning ‘a basket’ due to its similarity to ‘holding’ something.

We may also seek the Italian equivalent of a corbel, which is mensola, that is derived from the Latin mensa, meaning table, just because its use was that of holding something, namely a balcony.

But the Maltese ‘evolution’ of the word saljatura was quite a different matter because it is derived from two Sicilian words, namely soglia and tirare. Why is it so?

The first part of the word, soglia, means a threshold, namely the entrance of the outside front door. This is followed by the word tirare (to throw). Thus, the direct descent of our saljatura can be easily discerned from its medieval origins of the two protruding stones just below a windowsill or on top of an old tower just above its doorway.

As a testimonial to this view, it is enough to have a look at the corbels of many an old house that are an exact reproduction in form, measurement and design of old Maltese towers.

With the passing of time, these corbels began to change, increase in size and even complicate themselves after the 17th century; but even in these instances one has to emphasise the fact that, in their vast majority, they basically repeated the defensive sogliatura of old.

With the onset of the Renaissance, the fundamental form was retained but the frame became richer with the so-called Gerolamo Cassar-style works.

Later, with the Baroque invasion and Neoclassicism that had crept in, the pure saljatura origins were all but forgotten.

Still, Maltese builders remained, albeit unconsciously, tied to the old defensive origins of the Maltese corbel.

This ‘tie’ survived up to the middle of last century during which time the mania of house owners and builders knew no bounds. But, alas, following that time, ‘Brutalism’ crept in, which resulted in the kind of architecture we ‘enjoy’ at present.

Nowadays we can still appreciate these saljaturi if we wish to and, through keener observation, we can discover, besides the sculptural abilities, a host of inventive measures through which we can occasionally even decipher some ‘hidden’ message.

Symbolic messages were also not lacking, such as bulls’ heads, denoting a butcher, grapes suggesting a wine seller, a viper for a pharmacist, a book indicating a clerk or notary

The shape and size of the saljaturi varied according to the needs or whims of the builder. They may have even reached five courses as regards size – nothing seems to have daunted them! Many, if not most, of these corbels were dressed in the ubiquitous acanthus leaf, followed by a profusion of flowers and scrolls. Still, despite this repetitiveness, we cannot deny that several did not lack some sort of originality.

There were those that were transformed into some human form, like Turkish heads, slaves, women’s faces, attractive or not, as well as those of animals like cats, dogs, goats, monkeys, eagles, bulls, lions and, at times, even devils’ heads. As to the latter, the reason for such a choice is anybody’s guess!

Arabesques, strapwork and ropework were suggested to the owner/builder of a house and, evidently, the most involved person was the carver concerned, whom we might label as the saljatur. Symbolic messages were also not lacking, such as those with bulls’ heads, denoting a butcher, grapes suggesting a wine seller, a viper for a pharmacist, a book indicating a clerk or notary, and so on.

It is presumed that this peculiar craft had its sort of bottegas. Although some of them were excellent sculptors, others – not so professional – lacked that tinge of originality and attractiveness. Today, alas, the use and construction of these corbels has all but disappeared and, as far as I am aware, no ‘masterpiece’ has emerged after the 1950s.

Tegole and Maltese buildings

A very particular section of old Maltese houses was quite popular, especially in the Middle Ages. This was the covering up of various buildings in Malta in a manner very similar to several abodes in nearby Sicily and, naturally, in Italy. This particular covering consisted of layers of roof tiles known to this day as tegole that provided full protection, mostly against inclement weather. Nowadays these are considered as anathema to the Maltese house both by many local architects as well as by many at the Planning Authority.

It is often said that these are alien to the Maltese buildings in general because, they argue, they never formed part of our constructions.

This is not true because we have concrete proof that such tegole were quite popular, mostly before the coming of the Knights.

Documents unequivocally state that they were extensively used, and reused, on buildings old and new. Quite contrary to what many today state, there were times when these tegole became popular to such an extent that ‘factories’ for their production mushroomed mostly in the countryside around the then capital city.

With time, their popularity increased as they were much cheaper to produce locally, whereas previously they all had to be imported.

As Malta started to recede from its medieval past, their production and use started to decline for some reason or other. This is a pity because they used to offer a much nicer appearance than today’s horrific rooftops. In their publications, both Mario Buhagiar and Stanley Fiorini offer extensive reading about this very interesting long-lost craft.

It stands to reason that this is not the end of our stories because other crafts have been lost or are leaning towards extinction, as are the cases of ventilators, which are so necessary in our arid hot climate, and the upper roof stone framework that kept our facades clean. We may also recall the double-wall (dobblu) structure and the south-facing arcades of our old houses.

Nostalgic memories?

Not necessarily, because every craft had its raison d’être based almost entirely on local climatic and geological conditions that the monstrous onslaught of concrete has all but eliminated. Occasionally, in today’s concrete jungle, one may encounter some prose but with the disappearance of the traditional building crafts, poetry has disappeared but, hopefully, not forever.

Concluded. Part one of this article was published on October 12.