Johann Sebastian Bach!
No,
none of that, although the last one comes attractively
close. Local musicologists and art historians have
decided over the last five years that the symbols are
letters in the Aramaic language (the language spoken by
Jesus and once the lingua
franca of the Middle East). There are seven
symbols, each symbol representing a musical note. When
viewed in the proper sequence, they produce a particular
Gregorian chant. That is not as weird as it might sound,
since the Sanseverino family, indeed, had similar
"facade music" chiseled into some of their other
residences in southern Italy. The music sleuths who did
the work are working on a transcription of the piece for
organ with the idea of presenting it in the church,
itself.
Chief
sleuth in all this is Vincenzo de Pasquale, a local art
historian and music buff. He went on a rampage of
research to track down the origins of the symbols
inscribed on the facade. His digging led him from the archives of the Bank of Naples
to a 1742 edition of Vite
dei Pittori, Scultori, ed Architetti Napoletani
[Lives of Neapolitan Painters, Sculptors and Architects]
by Bernardo De Dominici and then all the way to Eger in
Hungary where he came across a volume from the late
1800s called
Sanseverino Palota
[the Sanseverino Building] by one Laszlo Molnar. [Don't
bother to look. There are many Laszlo Molnars in
Hungary. One was a middleweight boxer in the early
1900s; another was a prominent Hungarian fighter pilot,
flying for the Axis in WWII when he was shot down. This
Laslo Molnar is probably another one.]
The
architect of the original Palazzo Sanseverino is
identified as Novello da San Lucano, who might have
remained unknown if not for this research. He is also
mentioned as having to do with the restoration of the
church of San Domenico Maggiore.
Sources say that he was also a musician; indeed, the
Hungarian book contains a number of Gregorian chants,
some of which are by the architect, da San Lucano,
including the one on the facade of our Neapolitan
church. The book Sanseverino Palota (cited
above) also mentions the peculiar fact of the musical
notation, itself, being engraved into the stone —not
unique, perhaps, but it was unusual. If we ever get a
chance to hear this thing, and if the Bach connection
holds, then the mechanism for such transfer of music
from one place to another in Europe in centuries past
would presumably have been the great amount of music
manuscript exchange that went on from church to church
and monastery to monastery throughout Europe.
Incidentally
the Naples/Hungary connection is not far fetched. During
Angevin rule in the 1300s and
early 1400s) male monarchs were often titular kings of
Hungary. It is plausible that Neapolitan and Hungarian
churches were swapping their versions of the Top Ten.
And what
of the rumor that Johann Sebastian Bach, himself, showed
up in Naples in the 1740s cleverly disguised as a
construction worker and was seen sitting on high wooden
scaffolding in front of the facade of the church of Gesù
Nuovo frantically taking notes?! (That one may just be a
rumor.) Finally, we note with investigative zeal that
the first four notes of 'O sole mio bear an
uncanny resemblance to Grieg's Piano Concerto no.1.