Any Christian place of worship* in the world named Saint Sebastian is named for Sebastian (died c. AD 288), an early Christian saint and martyr. According to traditional belief, he was killed during the Roman emperor Diocletian's persecution of Christians. He is commonly depicted in art and literature tied to a post or tree and shot with arrows. This painting, The Martyrdom of Saint Sebastian, is from c. 1525. It is by the artist known as Sodoma (1477-1549), (nom de plume of Giovanni Antonio Bazzi).
*There is a building no longer known by that name in Naples, mentioned in the first entry below. Music historians may recall that there was once a St. Sebastian music conservatory in Naples, but even that building was originally the large monastery of Saint Sebastian, dating back to the 600s (not the 1600s -- the 600s!)Thus, with this update (2018) there are now two entries below on this page:
the Trail of the Missing Music
—a tale involving the world's worst etymology!
The last part first. Many years ago, I saw the name of the church named Pietà dei Turchini on via Medina in Naples. I let fall but a single powerful drop of my intellectual alkahest onto the problem of the origin of the name and —shazaam!— knew, just knew (!) the answer:
—fact: in the 1500s, Turkish pirates were raiding along the Campanian coast;
—fact: there is in Neapolitan dialect a cry for help, "Mamma, li turchi!" (roughly: "Help! Here come the Turks!"). It is still used humorously to express mock terror.
—factoid: "Turchini" is a plural diminutive of "turco"—a Turk, thus "little Turks";
of Pietà dei Turchini
Conclusion (the chain of deduction takes my breath away): the church was called "Pity of the Little Turks" and was so-called because many centuries ago there was a band of particularly vicious Turkish pirates, a sort of Ottoman Midget Special Forces, about to raid Naples, so the people built this house of worship to seek refuge, that is, pity.
then found out that turchino
is a color, a few angstroms away from "turquoise" and that
the church is named for the color of the robes that the
little altar boys wore. The kids were the "turchini". The
church is named for altar boys. There. Man, is my face
ever turquoise! (Having said all that, I have no
explanation for the presence of a Turkish flag on the
balcony adjacent to the church, photo, left. Someone has a
strange sense of humor.)
That church is connected to what was once a very large monastery (long since converted to secular, municipal use) and was the site of one of the four historical music conservatories in Naples. As noted elsewhere in these pages, these institutions were consolidated into a single conservatory in the early 1800s. That is shakily accurate, but is a drab gloss of what went on behind the scenes, so I set out to find the actual old buildings, themselves, and see what I could dig up. (In Naples, "dig up" is not necessarily a metaphor.) Thus:
Conservatorio della Pietà dei
Turchini was built
in 1583 and is the only one of the original four sites
that is still easy to find. Indeed, the church is still
prominent and open to the faithful. It stands on via
Medina not far from the city hall. The church has a
historical marker posted in front that explains its role
as one of the original four. The name "conservatory"
originally indicated a place that "conserved" orphans
and young women. All of the institutions instructed
their wards in music; thus was born the modern meaning
of "music school."
2. The Conservatorio dei Poveri di Gesù Cristo was founded in 1589 by Marcello Fossataro, a Franciscan monk. It was adjacent to the church of Santa Maria della Colonna (photo, right) on via dei Tribunale directly across the street from the mammoth white church of the Girolamini. Illustrious names connected with the school include the philosopher Giovan Battista Vico; a "maestro de [sic] grammatica" from 1620 to 1627, according to the records. (My cockles really go into heat when I read that one of our cultural icons, indeed, paid his dues by pounding verb conjugations into numb little skulls. He made five carlini a month. In modern currency, that works out to, approximately, "not very much.") Musical luminaries at the conservatory included Francesco Durante, Niccoló Porpora, and Giovanni Battista Pergolesi.
All monasteries and convents in Naples were closed by the French in the early 1800s (under the reign of Murat), and many were then re-closed at the unification of Italy later in the century. The Poveri di Gesù Cristo has a slightly different history. It was closed in 1743. According to some sources, the students staged a "revolt" against the rector, and the conservatory was simply shut down and the unruly students dispersed to the other three music schools. Thus, the Poveri di Gesù Cristo is not in the group of Neapolitan monasteries later consolidated. The church stayed open, but fell into ruin over the years. (The facade of the church is from 1715 and is by Antonio Giudetti. The church was last restored in 1896.) The original entrance is now closed; the metal gate across the entrance is rusted and bent, the wooden doors are rotted, the facade is dingy, the inscription above the entrance is barely legible. To the eye, it is just one more broken-down small old church in the city. Yet, if you walk around the corner and through a side entrance — behind the original church — you are in the courtyard of the old monastery, itself, again a working religious institution. And I mean working. Members of the order of the Sisters of Calcutta (Mother Teresa) scurry and hustle about, heeding the injunction to feed the hungry. They even have a homeless shelter with room for about 20 residents at any given time.
the entry on Croce &
3. Santa Maria di Loreto was built in 1537 and was the original conservatory in Naples, coming at the beginning of the Spanish expansion of Naples under the city's most famous viceroy, don Pedro de Toledo. Old maps show Santa Maria di Loreto to have been a seafront "borgo" —a separate section of town— just beyond the Carmine fortress at Piazza Mercato. (The ruins of that fortress are still prominent (photo, left); Piazza Mercato is still there, as is the church of the Carmine (in photo); the modern port road, via Marina, is from 1900;) Thus, the conservatory was beyond the Spanish fortifications that guarded the southeastern approach to Naples: it was an extensive piece of property with monastery, church and a vast garden. It was described as being "in the countryside" beyond the walls.
original monastery was turned into a hospital in the 19th
century; that hospital was destroyed by an Allied air raid on
December 15, 1942. (The
hospital was virtually next-door to the major Axis port
facility in Naples; that entire area was subject to over
100 air raids in the war.)
if you turn in from the port road on Corso Garibaldi just
past the Mercato, you find after a short distance an
enormous chunk of an old Spanish building on the right
that they simply haven't bothered to tear down (photo,
right). That is part of the original conservatory —and
then hospital— of Santa Maria di Loreto. The area is still a mish-mash of
shoddily thrown-up cinder-block walls from the 1950s. Habitable halves of bombed
buildings were left standing; they are still lived in. More modern buildings have been
put up in the last 20 years in an attempt to resurrect
that section of town.
One such newer building is the modern hospital (photo, left), Santa Maria di Loreto a mare, named for the old hospital and standing approximately on the original premises.
city fathers, in their current, welcome frenzy of tagging
buildings with historical markers in four languages decide
to save the enormous chunk of Spanish masonry I referred
to (above) they can say that once upon a time it was part
of a music conservatory renowned as the training grounds
for many of the famous Italian castrati
singers of the day, including Farinelli.
4. Sant' Onofrio a
Capuana (photo, right) is from 1578 and enjoyed
centuries of musical renown, just like the others. Charles Burney's The
Present State of Music in France and Italy,
published in 1771, recounts his visit to the music school
at Sant'Onofrio. In part:
This morning I went with young Oliver to his Conservatorio of St. Onofrio, and visited all the rooms where the boys practise, sleep, and eat. On the first flight of stairs was a trumpeter, screaming upon his instrument till he was ready to burst; on the second was a french-horn, bellowing in the same manner. In the common practising room there was a Dutch concert, consisting of seven or eight harpsichords, more than as many violins, and several voices, all performing different things, and in different keys: other boys were writing in the same room...
The cacophony was probably typical of all of the conservatories of the day. What may not be typical was the fact the Sant' Onofrio, due to its location in the city, was apparently more affected by the violent events of Masaniello's Revolt and then, later, by the devastating plague —the Black Death— of 1656. At one point, the conservatory closed and only reopened after the plague had run its course.
Sant' Onofrio counts as its alumni Niccoló Jommelli, Giovanni Paisiello and Niccoló Piccinni, three of the great names in 18th century Neapolitan music. The original building still stands, just across the street on the north side of the old Vicaria, the tribunale, the Naples Hall of Justice (until quite recently). That area of Naples was not greatly affected by the risanamento or by the air raids of WW2. The building is under restoration; a plaque says that it is an administrative office building for the province of Naples (which function it will perhaps take up again when the builders leave); also, another plaque identifies the one open office as the premises of the Confraternity [lay brotherhood] of Sant' Onofrio a Portacapuana. The adjacent entrance to the church, itself, looks as decayed and closed as it does in the old photographs from the 1920s. (The photos are to be found in the definitive book on the old conservatories: I quattro antichi conservatori di musica a Napoli (The Four Ancient Music Conservatories of Naples—pub. Sandron. Milano, 1924) by the Neapolitan journalist and poet, Salvatore di Giacomo. The square near the old school was originally named Piazzetta Sant' Onofrio; it is now Piazza Enrico de Nicola, named for the first president of the Italian Republic.
[bibliographic note: Di Giacomo's book cites extensively from an earlier, now difficult-to-find work, La scuola musicale di Napoli e i suoi conservatori, con uno sguardo sulla storia della musica in Italia, by Francesco Florimo, 4 volumes. Morano, Napoli, 1882.]
5. San Sebastiano. The
consolidation of the conservatories took place in
piecemeal fashion, but quickly. With the closure of the Poveri
di Gesù Cristo in the 1740s, there remained
but three institutions. First, the music teaching function
of the Loreto was ceded to Sant' Onofrio
in 1797 so the Bourbon army could use part of the Loreto
premises as a barracks. The combined facility took on the
combined name of Loreto a
Capuana. Then, under French rule in 1807, all of
that was merged with the conservatory at the Pietà dei
Turchini (mentioned above), which then officially
became the Reale Collegio della Musica. And that
institution was then moved —still under the French in the
early 1800s— to the premises of the ex-monastery of San
Sebastiano. At that point, the musical life of the
original conservatories was over.
church/monastery complex of San Sebastiano is ancient and
huge; it sits in the middle of Naples on the eastern side
of Piazza Dante, but is
inconspicuous because it is overlaid with centuries of
other construction. The nucleus goes back to the time of
Pope Gregory the Great in the 600s. For centuries, the
complex grew and housed various combinations of monastic
orders. The greatest change to the physical plant of San
Sebastiano was the construction in 1760 of a square called
Foro Carolina (now Piazza Dante) at the rear of the old
monastery; the great architect, Vanvitelli,
constructed the new open square and the magnificent
semicircular facade (photo, left) at the back of the old monastery to face the modern
square. He also opened a new entrance to the monastic
grounds from that side, essentially turning the back of
the building into the front. The old main entrance is on
via San Sebastiano, now in back, the street that runs on
top of the old Greek and then Roman western wall of the
noted above, under the French in 1807 the entire musical
establishment that had settled into Pietà dei Turchini
was moved into San Sebastiano. A few years later, in 1828, the centuries-old game of musical
chairs came to an end when the Bourbons moved the Royal
College of Music one block east into the premises of San Pietro a Maiella in 1828,
where it remains today. At the unification of Italy, the
San Sebastiano complex was turned into a high school, the
Convitto Vittorio Emanuele. The high school still exists
under that name.
- - - - -
- - - - -
August 17, 2018
The Abbey of St. Sebastian at Alatri
Alatri, itself, is remarkable in its own right. The city is in the province of Frosinone in the region of Lazio (of which Rome is the capital) about 120 km/75 mi NW of Naples and is part of the traditional area of Ciociaria. It is known for its megalithic walls and acropolis (image, right), put there centuries ago by an Italic people called the Hernici well before anyone had ever heard of Rome. But the Romans got heard of very quickly and by the relatively early year of 306 BC they had gobbled up Alatri.
Instead, we are here concerned with the Abbey of St. Sebastian, only 3 km from Alatri. It is the site of one of the most ancient monastic communities in the West, even before famous Benedict's Monte Cassino; indeed, this one put Benedict up for a while in 528 A.D. Very early credentials, indeed.
Tradition says that the Monastery of S. Sebastiano (image, left) was founded by the patrician Petrus Marcellinus Felix Liberius, one of the most important Italian administrators of the sixth century. (If that sounds strange, remember that the Western Roman empire had fallen to the Ostrogoths in 475. Theodoric the Ostrogoth was now in charge, but he left some Italians in administrative positions, one of whom was Liberius, who brought the monastic community into existence. It is not at all certain what religious order they adhered to and there is a large gap in our knowledge of the site for many centuries, until about 1200. There is then documentation of frescoes attributed to the school of Cavallini, as well as restructuring aimed at enlarging the premises. In 1441 the abbey (or monastery) was suppressed and its wealth transferred to the Vatican. During the Renaissance it became somewhat of a luxury villa and was under the jurisdiction of various private families.
Autonomous religious communities in Italy more or less disappeared in the 1800s, first under Napoleon, then later under the new strongly anti-clerical rule of the new united Italy (1861). What you have today, then, is an attempt to recreate something that perhaps existed once upon a time. The aesthetic conditions of the buildings have had to return to those of a more sober architectural structure inspired by simplicity. This creates the impression that the buildings are in a poor state of repair. That is not the case. Now you have the restored frescoes and the museum. (There are also goats, ducks, pigs, and chickens in the courtyard.) The abbey is private property, inhabited, and frequently visited. They want you to come and stay a spell (well, they say "brief") and sop up some of that good gruel before you return to the weary world where you left your car or donkey.
If you are tempted (and I would be) here is some contact info: They have a truly monastic website, the English version doesn't work. Also: firstname.lastname@example.org email@example.com
telephone (landline): 0775.873050 cell phone: 3381566669. (You may call it a mobile phone or a smart phone. German guests shall refrain from calling it a "handy," which they think is English.
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