A Wedding

La Presentosa in silver from Abruzzo.
Photograph by the author.

The details of the wedding of my great-grandparents are no longer in living memory. No doubt, Emiddio would have heard stories through the years. Certainly, Cristina would have spoken of the event with her daughters. Perhaps, she showed them la presentosa. Maybe she pulled it from a drawer where she kept such keepsakes, unwrapping the tissue or handkerchief which enclosed it and displaying it for the girls in the palm of her hand, this most traditional of wedding gifts from the groom’s family, the gold or silver many-pointed star with the lovers’ hearts at its center.

A woman of Molise in
traditional wedding costume.
From Peasant Art in Italy
(1913) by Charles Holme.
Public domain.

She would have told them of being dressed by her matrons of honor – all would have been matrons, for unmarried women or girls weren’t allowed to attend. She would tell of how they first pulled over her head the white linen chemise, which was trimmed with lace from L’Aquila to the north, followed by the bodice, the comodino, worn like a vest, woven in black in the village of Pescocostanzo or in Scanno, embroidered with gold thread and trimmed with sky-blue ribbon. Next, the long sleeves, also embroidered in gold, joined to the comodino. The pleated wool skirt, the casacca, would then be wrapped around her by her matrons. It, too, would have gold embroidery and ribbon at its hem, which almost touched the floor. Over the skirt, the mantera would be added like an apron, folded over at the waist to display the intricate embroidery. Gold chains, a rosary, and finally la presentosa would go around her neck. After gold earrings, the headdress known as a tovaglia, made of red cloth, embroidered and with lace around its edges, would be placed on her head, folded and pinned to fall to her shoulders. Her matrons, dressed similarly to confuse evil spirits, would stand back and look at her. Never again in her life would Cristina enjoy such attention, such admiration.

Wildflowers in the Valle Fiorita.
Photograph by the author.

It was 1883 and May in the Apennines, a time of bright, crisp air, of trees leafing out, and of wildflowers in the valleys, especially in the high Valle Fiorita in the mountains above Pizzone, where there would still be late patches of snow, broken through by tufts of new grass and the occasional purple crocus. The melting snow fed icy streams, which crossed the valley floor, pooling in the low spots, the surface of the pools themselves white with wildflowers. Cristina would be the second of the daughters of Pasquale and Felicita to marry. Her older sister Francesca had married two years before and now had a son.

A street in Pizzone.
Photograph by the author.

It was a Sunday, domenica, the day which brings the best luck. The banns would have been read after Mass the Sunday two weeks before in the tiny piazza outside the door of San Nicola, as was the custom. Now, the day of the wedding, Cristina’s family would have gathered mid-afternoon at her parent’s house – all would be there, including grandparents and godparents, aunts and uncles and cousins. They would spill out into the narrow street and wait for the groom and his family to arrive from San Vincenzo. Carmine, his parents, Michele and Angelamaria, and other family members would join the growing crowd to begin the procession to the church.

A street in Pizzone.
Photograph by the author.

The wedding party would proceed through Pizzone’s streets, some little more than alleys that in winter months fill up with snow, most between the houses of neighbors, some of whom stood in their doorways or peered down from their balconies. Perhaps, a shower of wheat, of salt, even crumbs of bread might be tossed at the couple to represent abundance, fertility, and good luck. In the fields or working the orchard or tending the few sheep belonging to the family, Cristina would have worn sandals with over-long laces to wrap around and hold up the white cotton wrappings used to protect her ankles and lower legs from stubble and branches and to provide warmth. But today, she would have worn shoes, which during the procession would have felt awkward to her, slippery even when going up the steep hills on the cobblestones.

The campanile of San Nicola.
Photograph by the author.

They would round a final corner and see the campanile of San Nicola and then the front door of the church standing open. Perhaps, a blue ribbon and bow decorated the lintel, the church adorned with flowers from the valley. Carmine and Cristina would kneel before the priest and beneath the cool arches of San Nicola. They would kneel in the same spot where other couples before them had knelt together for over five-hundred years, and they would make their vows.

They would return to the home where Cristina was born and lived these last eighteen years. The family and close friends would go inside for dinner while others gathered outside. A lamb would have been roasted over coals. There also would have been cured meats, vegetable dishes, and pastas, as well as pastries and cakes. Food and drink would have been passed to those outside – frothy red wine and liquors flavored with sugar and herbs such as basil and fennel. Cristina would pass out to all those attending the sugared almonds known as bomboniere to take home with them. A musican playing a local bagpipe known as a zampogna and made in the neighboring village of Scapoli would dominate his fellow musicians on the organetto – similar to a concertina – maybe a tambourine, known as a tamburello, and the chitarra battente, or “beating” guitar, used for pounding out the rhythms. The spallata molisana, the tarantella, both dances descendents of the saltarello which went back to the Romans, would echo across the surrounding mountains as twilight set in. The spallata, which literally means “shove with the shoulder,” was among the most popular and was traditional at weddings here in Molise and in Abruzzo just to the north and in all of the areas once belonging to the Samnite people. The party would last until the sky lightened above the mountains as dawn approached. The guests gradually would wander home, arm in arm, to sleep.

In the coming days, Cristina and Carmine would join his parents on Via Centrale in San Vincenzo. Almost immediately, she would be pregnant with Emiddio. The coming year would be difficult. A catastrophic earthquake centered in the Gulf of Naples would cause great damage across southern Italy. And then in 1884, a cholera epidemic in the months after Emiddio’s birth would claim the lives of thousands. Carmine and Cristina now owned a little land. Two other children followed: another son, Vincenzo, in 1886, and a daughter, Maria Assunta, in 1887. For now, Fortuna was kind. At least, they were getting by. But soon they would take a chance, convinced that a better future awaited them. The lure of l’America was becoming irresistible for many Molisani and for Italians in general. Soon, Cristina and Carmine would follow others from their villages and travel first to France and then to the great port of Antwerp. A ship of the Red Star Line, the SS Rhynland, awaited them there.

* * * 

Below are videos of the dances and music referred to above.

San Vincenzo al Volturno, 1857

The narrow road from Pizzone to Castel San Vincenzo travels four kilometers across the valley floor up onto a rocky ridge along the lower slopes of Monte Vallone. Prior to 1928, Castel San Vincenzo had been two villages: the first, along the top of the ridge and built on ancient fortifications, was Castellone – or Castellum, as it was recorded in the medieval Chronicon Vulturnense – the second, a little lower down, was San Vincenzo al Volturno.

Castel San Vincenzo with the Mainarde behind.
Photograph by the author.

During Roman times, these lands were known as Samnium, named for the Sanniti, or Samnites, the fierce Italic tribe who had inhabited the region for centuries and with whom the Romans fought three wars. In place names such as Civitanova del Sannio or Mirabello Sannitico, and in archaeological ruins such as the temple and theater unearthed in Pietrabbondante or the cyclopean wall at Colli a Volturno, and in the passion of the people for their history, the presence of the Sanniti is felt here still.

Beneath the heights of Castel San Vincenzo is the Rocchetta plain, which from the age of Augustus had been the site of villas and agricultural estates, some likely connected to prominent families from nearby Isernia, a provincial capital then as it is now. According to the Chronicon, the emperor Constantine was travelling through the Apennines and stopped here in a densely wooded area to rest in the cool shade. After eating a large meal, he fell asleep and had a vision of three saints who told him to build an oratory here in this place of wild beasts and solitude. Constantine’s oratory, forgotten in this wilderness, would be discovered three centuries later by three noblemen from Benevento to the south. Paldo, Tato, and Taso, as they were known, would choose this place as the site of their abbey, which they would dedicate to Saint Vincent, the Spanish deacon martyred during the time of Constantine’s grandfather, during the last and the bloodiest of the persecutions of Christians, which occurred during the reign of the emperor Diocletian.

The Rocchetta plain seen from Castel San Vincenzo.
Photograph by the author.

The abbey, near the source of the Volturno River, would become known as San Vincenzo al Volturno. With Paldo as its first abbot and with generous land grants from the Beneventan nobility, it would gain great prominence in the years to come, becoming a rival to the great sixth-century abbey at nearby Monte Cassino, even hosting first Aistulf and then Desiderius, the Lombard kings whose tribe had first come to this region two hundred years before. In 773, Charlemagne began his campaign against Desiderius. The victory of the Carolingians, however, did not upset the social order established by the Lombards. Instead, they supported it, bringing about a technical and cultural renaissance. The Church was an important part of this, and as a result San Vincenzo became a center of learning and political power in the medieval world.

Abbot Epyphanius from the fresco
in the Crypt of Epyphanius. The square
halo indicates he was alive at the time
this was painted.
Photograph by the author.

By 824, when Abbot Epyphanius took office, San Vincenzo was at its zenith. Abbot Epyphanius would finish the great works begun by his predecessors, completing the monastic city with the basilica San Vincenzo Maggiore at its heart. But difficult years were ahead. After surviving a violent earthquake in 847, San Vincenzo would be raided and burned in 881 by an Arab-Berber band. The monks defended the abbey. Hundreds were killed, according to the Chronicon, before they were overwhelmed, the survivors fleeing to Capua. It would be thirty-five years before they would return and start to rebuild.

By the end of the tenth century, much of the abbey, including San Vincenzo Maggiore, remained in ruins. The abbey had lost much of its lands, leasing them to settlers. The Chronicon records a twenty-nine year lease given in 945 by Abbot Leo to four men: Lupus, son of Teudosus; Petrus, son of Yselbertus; Adelbertus, son of Flora; and Adus, son of Leopardus. This was the charter for Castro Samnie, the Samnite past recognized in the naming of this village that would become Castel San Vincenzo. In the next century, a new abbey would be built across the Volturno, across the hump-backed Roman bridge, which still exists, known as the Ponte della Zingara or Bridge of the Gypsy. The ruins of the old abbey would serve for building materials.

The Virgin Mary as Queen in the
Crypt of Epyphanius.
Photograph by the author.

Over the next eight hundred years, the old site would be covered over, its exact location lost. It was not until March 10, 1832, that the Crypt of Epyphanius was found accidentally beneath a barn belonging to Domenico Notardonato, who immediately notified his priest. Viewing the crypt through a small rectangular window, the priest could see that it was partially filled with earth, but in the gloom a glimpse of the muted colors of the frescoes which covered the walls could be seen. It would be the end of the century before this crypt was entered and the beauty of the Byzantine frescoes revealed.

It was into this world, on July 17, 1857, on Via Centrale, past the twelfth-century gate known as the Portale San Filippo, that my great-grandfather, Carmine Di Julio, father of Emiddio, was born to Michele Di Julio and his wife Angela Maria Concetta Vacca. In four years, the world for little Carmine would change. As the decade of the Italian unification, or Risorgimento, began, the ancient feudal past of his father began to come unwound. There would be new challenges to these people of the Terra di Lavoro to whom nationalization would feel more like conquest and colonization by the North. Besides hunger and the loss of land, there would be the brigante, the bandits with little to lose who would roam these hills in the years to come, occupying Castellone and San Vincenzo twice in 1861 alone. 

Portale San Filippo, Castel San Vincenzo.
Photograph by the author.

On the rounded ceiling of the Crypt of Epyphanius, inside the small window as far as could be reached, graffiti was found. I think of my great-grandfather. I imagine the adolescent, who, perhaps, came to this place with other village boys – or, perhaps, on a dare, in the dead of night, by himself to make his mark. I try to see what he would have seen, to hear what he would have heard, to smell the odors carried on the night air. In this way, I hope to close the gap, to erase the distance of the years back to this man I never knew but whose essence is in my bloodstream. In a few years, Carmine would marry the young girl across the valley in Pizzone. Together they would start a new life on Via Centrale. Like other young people in the village, they would want better – for themselves and for their children. They would save what money they could. They would plan with the others, and together they would book their passage. There was courage in numbers. And together they would cross the Atlantic to the New World.