Emilito’s Trip to the Land of the Graziani
September 2003
Under
Construction
VILLABUONA
Villabuona, Pescaglia, Lucca, Toscana
Birthplace of Emilito's great-great-great-grandfather Romano Graziani
Villabuona is the town halfway up the hill in the background
Picture taken in 2001 by Betty or Bill Serow
SS Peter & Paul Church in Piazzanello
This is the Pescaglia Parish Church where Romano Graziani was baptized
Picture taken in 2001 by Steve White
Background
After a lifetime hearing about the Italian branch of our family, the quirky Grazziani – who turn out to have really been the Graziani (and earlier the Gratiani and perhaps even the Grattiani) – in 1999 I finally found out where they lived. Cousin Betty and her husband Bill were there in June 2001; my lifelong friend Steve White and his wife Julie got there in October 2001, a professional genealogist has done some work for me there. The time has come – I must go!
Luckily, Steve has many friends in the area due to a 4-year stay in Livorno while in the US Army many years ago. He arranges for the two of us to stay with his friend Mario Marchisio in Ripafratta, a town on the border of Pisa and Lucca provinces. Also, Mario donates his Saab to Steve to transport us when he is not around.
Friday September 5.
I spend Thursday morning at work and leave in time to catch a 2 PM bus from Bethlehem to JFK. I make the plane in plenty of time, and probably get my usual 2 hours or so of sleep during the flight. I arrive in Milan around 10 AM and get to Pisa around 2:30 PM. Steve meets me at the airport and drives me around various places, but I’m struggling to stay awake and sleep through most of them. We end up at Mario’s house, and in order to stay awake, I join Mario and Steve on a trip to a supermarket in Lucca; Mario is gathering dinner ingredients. Great prices on food (i.e. veggies, cheeses, wine, bread, i.e. a few things I’m familiar with). [Heide’s comment when she reads my draft: “You haven’t the slightest idea what a great price is for these things! Ok, ok, Steve told me they were great prices. Keep reading!]
At
Mario’s I meet his daughter Valentina
and her fiancé
Alberto Gambogi. Gambogi is one of the
family names, and his family originated
in the Pescaglia area, as did mine – who knows, maybe a relative . . . J
We
had dinner at Mario’s. Fabulous food
includes porcini, ham
made in a bed of salt, and other yummy stuff – and it’s great to have
good
European bread again. After a few bottles of wine I’m feeling
sleepy and
recall that I haven’t slept in a couple of days.
Wonderful Porcini (& Wine)
Nevertheless in
my 3rd
floor room – I’m sleeping on an extraordinarily comfortable mattress on
the
floor of a large room with a big skylight – I find the Fascist Annual
of year
XVII (1939) of Mussolini’s regime and am fascinated. At 2:30 AM I
make my first of many bathroom trips of the visit – down two long
(about 10-ft-high rooms!)
staircases with a long 2nd floor obstacle course to
negotiate in the
process. Must remember where all those light switches are! When I
return, I
put away the Fascist Annual (well, after a few more pages) and sleep.
Saturday September 6.
After a good sleep, I’m off to see the area that was once home to the Graziani ancestors of all the Lagos-Besteiro families of the US. Somewhere around 10:30 we (Mario, Steve and I) leave Ripafratta. We take a clockwise route around Lucca, and enter the Valley of the Serchio River. Our plan is to head to Pescaglia via the town of Diecimo, whence we will travel up into the mountains. First, however, we drive through Borgo a Mozzano and then visit the bridge known both as Ponte della Maddalena and Ponte del Diavolo (Devil’s Bridge).
The legend that goes with this name is that the original person designated to build the bridge was despairing of completing it on time. The devil appeared and told him that he would complete the bridge for the man in return for the soul of the first to cross the bridge. Acting on a friend’s advice, the man made sure that a pig was the first to cross. Furious, the devil kicked the bridge, giving it its unique off-center aspect.
From Borgo a Mozzano we go back to Diecimo, and head towards Pescaglia. I’ve been under the impression that Pescaglia was in what is known as the Garfagnana, a region of the Serchio Valley between the Apuan Alps and the Apennines. But Mario says while it is in the Serchio Valley [Val di Serchio], it is definitely not in the Garfagnana. Not that I disbelieve my host, but I have to check.
A book I purchase on the Garfagnana says that “from a purely administrative and historical view, [the Garfagnana] only refers to [a more northern section of the Valley].” It goes on to say, however, that those who work in the tourist trade tend to identify the entire Serchio Valley starting directly from Ponte a Moriano (just outside of Lucca) as Garfagnana. So . . . what we can say for sure is that Pescaglia is in the Serchio Valley. It’s also an integral part of the book “Discover Garfagnana,” a ubiquitous item at all the souvenir stands. It looks like the tourist industry is working on single-handedly expanding the Garfagnana.
Just
after Diecimo, we stop to look at a church
tower.
Mario notes that this is a typical Luccan church tower: 4 windows on
the top
level, 3 below that, 2 below that, etc. The design makes the tower
architecturally sound as the weight is distributed so that there is
less and
less of it as the height from the ground increases. We
continue on the road
to Pescaglia.
Typical Luccan Church Tower
Note the distribution of weight, per above paragraph
At 11:42 a sign leaps out at me: “Villa a Roggio!” This is exciting because, from old documents I recognize it as the birthplace of my great-great-great-great grandmother. I had not found it on any map. Cool! For now, however, we continue on to Villabuona.
The story of how I came to find that this hamlet was the birthplace of my great-great-great grandfather is a bit curious. Having found a related clan of Graciani in Spain (a story in itself) whose common ancestor was Flavio Graziani/Graciani, I was given access to lots of written family lore. On a sheet of paper with little connection to anything else was written that Flavio Graciani was from Vilabona [sic], province of Lucca.
With great difficulty, and help from a Lucca map of Steve and Julie’s, as well as some research in Lucca by Betty and Bill – many great stories too long for this tale – we found Villabuona and ascertained a) that Flavio was indeed born there and b) that my great-great-great grandfather was named Romano and was Flavio’s brother.
As
we continue on the 5 minute drive to Villabuona
we pass
“Celle dei Puccini,” the birthplace of the ancestors of the famous
composer
Giacomo Puccini, who himself was born in Lucca.
Finally we see a blue sign pointing up a hill to the left that says “Villabuona,” and we drive 2-3 minutes through woods and up a steep hill. Arriving at Villabuona, we see “private property" signs that appear to cover the entrance to the entire town. But we proceed. Villabuona has no surfaces on which a 4-wheeled vehicle could possibly operate, thus all travel within the very hilly “frazione” (hamlet) must be on foot. A horse could traverse the passages between houses, but even a carriage would have had to be very narrow. I begin to think about how they would have traveled around there in 1800 (Romano and Flavio’s era).
Emilito enters Villabuona.
Almost certainly the first of Romano Graziani's descendants
to ever enter the town - nearly 200 years after Romano's departure
We pass several houses with no people in sight and
finally
find a woman working on her patio. Mario tells her that I’m
visiting the land
of my ancestors from America and would like to meet some of the
natives, and
she says something like “Well that’s nice, but I’m from Naples.”
She does take
us to the lady next door. When we ask her if there are any
Graziani in
Villabuona, she says “No, but there are in Pescaglia!” Then she
says that if
we like, she’ll come to Pescaglia with us to make introductions.
Mario tells
her that the only two other surnames I know from my direct line are
“Marchi”
and “Gambogi.” She notes that she doesn’t know any Marchi, but there
are also
Gambogi in Pescaglia.
A brief primer on localities in Italy (or at least
in Lucca):
Pescaglia is a “comune” [ko – MOON-eh], a kind of a sub-county,
with lots of
mini-communities, usually called “frazioni.” They’re what we
might call
hamlets (really tiny towns). Besides the comune of Pescaglia
there is also the
town of Pescaglia, just one of 17 frazioni of the 70 sq. km.
comune. Pescaglia
town doesn’t even house the parish of Pescaglia; the parish church of
Saints Peter and Paul, is located in the frazione of Piazzanello.
At any rate when the woman, who must be approaching 80, walks to the car with us, her experience with the rough and very steep cobblestones that make up the surface of Villabuona’s paths is obvious – with her cane, she surely – if slowly – traverses the streets until we reach our car.
On the road to Pescaglia town we find out her name is Signora Pieroni, and that she is a native of Pescaglia. After her husband’s recent stroke she suggested that they move back to Pescaglia, where she apparently owns a number of properties, but he wanted to return to his native Villabuona. His surname (cognome) is Massei, a typical Villabuona name.
Signora Pieroni is concerned about what is happening in Villabuona. An unfriendly group of outsiders (stranieri) has moved in with dangerous dogs that are terrorizing the neighborhood. She herself was attacked by the dogs. She says this all in a very hushed voice as if even here, several miles away, they could overhear her.
Out
of curiosity, I ask “What is the population of
Villabuona?” She says “otto” (eight, as in 8)! Apparently
it wasn’t too long
ago that there were 10, but one has died and one moved away.
There are
weekenders, and I imagine summer residents, and I don’t think she
counted the
“stranieri,” but there are now merely eight permanent residents of
Villabuona.
Now there is no work for its residents, but according to Signora
Pieroni, even
in the best of times years and even centuries ago, life here was very
tough. In
the old days people lived by picking chestnuts, gathering wood, and
growing
what minimal grain it was possible to cultivate on the very steep
hillside in
the this foothill of the Apuan Alps.
In Pescaglia, we find the Graziani are out of town, so she takes us to the Gambogi house, where the residents express little interest in my quest, so we move on to wander the city streets.
Pescaglia town is a pretty little place with narrow streets and a tiny church dedicated to the Lady of Carmine. There is also a statue to its World War I heroes, one of whom is a Graziani.
Our time in Pescaglia is done and we are ready for lunch. We ask Signora Pieroni to join us, but she declines and we take her back to Villabuona.
We lunch at Trattoria Le Castagne where we have lasagna and raviolini. We all agree the food is very good, but Mario feels that the restaurant is a bit pretentious. Paying the bill, we encountered what seems to be a common ploy – the “we take credit cards but just today it’s not working” scam. I can’t remember just how many times on this trip – in the “1-2-3-many” counting scheme it was definitely many – that we were greeted with this response when we wanted to pay with plastic.
After lunch, we decide to give Villa a Roggio a try. Another village on a hillside, it too has non-drivable streets, although it is possible to get cars at least as far as the village square. We walk around this very pretty hamlet and Mario questions a woman walking by us. “Are you from here?” “Yes.” “This gentleman is from the United States, and his ancestors came from this village. Their last name was Marchi; are there any Marchi here now?” “Oh, yes,” says the woman, “there is a Marchi family here. I’ll take you.”
We were taken to a very pretty house whose entryway was covered in bright beautiful flowers. The sole woman that was there invited us in for a Coke, and told us that her husband was a Marchi. The huge house behind theirs had been the ancestral Marchi house. They knew nothing about “my” Marchi (how could they – my Marchi died in her Graziani husband’s home town of Villabuona in 1809, it was her Graziani sons that emigrated), but she said that of the nine siblings in her father-in-law’s family, five had gone to the US. She wasn’t sure where – Boston, perhaps. Why did they go? Times were tough.
How many people live in Villa a Roggio? I ask. “About 70” is the answer. They too have been experiencing a severe decline in population.
In fact, as I was to find out later, the entire region has been declining in population for more than a hundred years. Here is a selection of data for the entire Pescaglia-comune for the last 250+ years.
1745 5052
1830 5689
1881 7183
1936 6218
1951 5897
2001 3718
That’s 3718 people not in one locality, but in a collection of 17 localities. It reminded me of what my MIT mate Jerry Goldstein used to say when he met people from small towns, “We had more people on the 16th floor of my apartment house in the Bronx!”
We leave the house and walk to our car accompanied by the woman that had directed us to the Marchi house. Mario asks her if she knew anything about strangers with dangerous dogs in Villabuona. “Yes,” she said, “they are Moroccans, they have pit bulls, and apparently are not at all friendly.” It is difficult, Mario acknowledges, to generalize, but in Italy – Moroccans hidden away in a secluded area with pit bulls – some people might think there was a drug connection.
Leaving
Villa a Roggio, we decide to hunt for the
“Chestnut Museum”
of Pescaglia: we had seen a sign earlier in the day. After our
longest ride
yet up one of the mountain hillsides, we come to the village of
Colognora. It
is the highest village in Pescaglia at 600 meters, and possibly the
prettiest
of those we have seen. And although we don’t see any cars – or
people for that
matter (it had kind of a tidy ghost-town appearance) – it appears the
cobblestone
streets may actually be wide enough to hold them.
We find the “Museo del Castagno” but it is closed. Open only on weekends and holidays, the sign says. Call for an appointment. Unfortunately I will not get to see the inside of this museum on this trip.
We go home by way of Lucca, but our day is not yet done. We go to Pisa for dinner, at the apartment of two friends of Mario and Steve’s, Ermanno and Grazziella. We have a marvelous dinner of coniglio (rabbit). As we are all wine lovers, many corks are popped. Ermanno and Grazziella are excellent Spanish speakers, so using a combination of Italian, English and Spanish the communication is excellent and the discussion lively.
We return home around 2 AM, and I spent some time transcribing notes on the full day we have spent before finally falling asleep on my mattress.
Sunday September 7.
I finally slept in a bit. After I got through breakfast (10-ish), Mario took us into Lucca where we wandered around for a couple of hours.
Lucca
is a surprisingly interesting city. I
say
“surprisingly” because it is so little publicized. It is
completely surrounded
by ancient city walls built in the 16th century and is a
perfect
city to walk in. Automobile use within the walls is now
restricted to residents,
although there are bicycles for rent. It grew up over the Roman
town called
Luca and follows its general plan. Before the Romans the
Etruscans, also known
as the Tusci (thus Tuscany), lived here.
As are most of Italy’s cities, Lucca is rich in history, one of its most famous locations being the “Piazza dell’Anfiteatro,” because its enclosed buildings were constructed on the ruins of a Roman amphitheater. Music is also of great importance in Lucca, the city that gave birth to Giacomo Puccini and Luigi Boccerini.
Lucca is generally accepted as the first town in Tuscany to convert to Christianity and its first Bishop was Paulinus, a disciple of St. Peter.
Our
first stop on this Sunday morning is the
cathedral.
Annoyingly, the place I really wanted to visit, the “Archivi
Vescovili,”
archives of the Arcivescovato (Archbishopric), are right there but will
not
reopen until September 15, the day I leave. Grrrr.
Next we stop at the church of Santa Reparata. It is one of many very old churches in Italy. The present Romanesque building dates from the early 12th century, but it is just one of many layers at the site: and more than two millennia’s worth of civilization can be glimpsed in the dug out layers representing the construction of different time periods.
We walk to an area of the church where excavations have exposed several eras of construction. The archeological ruins in the excavations show ruins of Roman structures and baths from as early as the second century BC. In all there are five levels that have been unearthed. The excavations also found remains of the first church here dating from the 4th century and used as the cathedral until the 700s.
I bought my first stash of postcards and a couple of books and maps for reading at home. Before leaving Lucca, I took my son Ricardo’s advice and tried some gelato – Mario took me to the “Gelateria Veneta,” reputed to be Lucca’s best. Excellent.
We head back to Mario’s for lunch. Among other things, I am treated to the luxury that is buffalo mozzarella.
At
4 PM Steve and I joined Valentina and Alberto
for a trip
to the beach, at Marina di Vecchiano. As I strolled into the
Mediterranean, I
thought to myself, “Gee, my father’s home town is just across the
water.”
Looking Southwest from Marina di
Vecchiano
About 600 miles straight ahead is Javea, near Emilito's father's
hometown of Gata, Alicante, Spain
Follow the straight line to the southwest and look from Graziani shore
to Signes shore
After we return home, the four of us got Mario and
went to
one of Valentina and Alberto’s hangouts – I Crocodilli
pizzeria. I had
a pizza siciliana – mozzarella, pomodori, acciuge, olive & cappere
(cheese
& tomato + anchovies, olives and capers) . . . another yummy meal .
. .
Steve and Emilito at I
Cocodrilli
We end the evening at Mario’s with a selection of
slivovitz,
grappa, Cuban rum. With me around, the bottle of Havana Club añejo
doesn’t have
a chance to last the week.
It’s well past one before I even think about sleeping. Somehow, however, a typed transcription of my notes into a document like the one I’m still writing now, nearly a month later, is not possible on these busy days.
Monday September 8.
Although the Arcivescovato’s archives may not be open, there is still a lot of historical perspective to be gained by looking around. Steve and I take off for the Garfagnana (or whatever) again.
We revisited the Ponte del Diavolo, and I bought more postcards, books, posters, etc.
From there it was on to Coreglia Antelminelli and the Museo della Figurina di Gesso e dell’ Emigrazione (Museum of Plaster of Paris Figurines and Emigration). We arrived at 11 AM and closed it down at 1 PM. The oral history of the descendants of both Romano and Flavio has passed down their occupation as “sculptors.” Many kinds of media have been mentioned – clay, wax, even wood – but no one really knows too much about them. This visit was an attempt to start to put 2 and 2 together.
Giulio Salemme, a professional genealogist that did some work for me in May noted that there were a lot of “figurinisti di gesso” that left this area. He didn’t explain, however, so I went to my trusty advisor Google. I discovered that precisely from this area – around Bagni di Lucca and the mountains north of Lucca – several centuries’ worth of figurinisti (AKA figuristi, or figurinai, the term I will use, in English plaster figurine makers), had emigrated, first to other parts of Italy, then (later, 17th to 19th century) to other parts of Europe, including Spain, and finally in the late 19th and early 20th century, to America. All of a sudden, I was seeing 2 + 2 ≈ 4.
Giulio claims that it may be possible to track
down a
passport for one or both of the brothers, in which case their
profession would
be listed. For now, I am going under the assumption that they
were figurinai.
I have been, however, wondering if the figurinai, assigned in the
literature to
this specific area to the North and East of the Serchio, in Bagni di
Lucca and
Coreglia Antelminelli, actually made it as far West & South as
Pescaglia
(OK it’s only a few miles, but a few miles in these hills a few
centuries ago
was a long way). We are accompanied for the entire 2 hours by
Signore
Guglielmo Lera, who was a wonderful, knowledgeable, and charming
guide. “Yes,”
he says, “there were figurinai from Pescaglia.”
Map Showing Coreglia Antelminelli - only about 5
miles from Pescaglia
View from Museum Window
19th -century figurines
In fact, I end up buying a book (and a lot more) at the museum, and in there, in a section on the most accomplished figurinai from the area, is an entire article on Pier Angelo Sarti, “the figurinaio who, above all, for his capacity, erudition and excellent ingenuity merits the remembrance and the admiration of posterity.” Sarti was born in Pescaglia in 1793, just about halfway between the birth years of Romano and Flavio. More grist for the mill. Hopefully 2+2 does indeed = 4.
At any rate, Mario had observed that the oral history implying that the brothers were sculptors should actually be inconsistent with their being figurinai (his thesis – which makes sense – is that the art of sculpting is exactly the opposite from the work of the figurinai – the first created a sculpture from a larger object, while the second filled a mold to create the figurine). Now that thesis no longer causes me problems. The art of the figurinai, Signore Lera explained, began with the sculpting of the original, from which the mold was made, and copies then poured. So my supposition is that often one man did all; in other cases there was a pecking order within the figurine making process, from sculptor to salesman. At least that is my thesis; I forgot to ask that specific question. At any rate, it was an extraordinarily interesting visit.
Cartoon: "The Image Seller"
The
topics of the figurinai are extremely varied,
ranging
from the very religious to the very profane: figures of the Virgin and
manger
scenes, Roman gods and goddesses, George Washington and Napoleon, etc.
There were examples of passports of a couple of the figurinai on the wall, reminding me that was an avenue I needed to follow.
I mentioned to Signore Lera that one of the comments made about the Graziani emigrants was that they might have worked in wax, and he comments that wax was indeed a media used by some of the figurinai. (In fact there were a group of figurinai that worked only in wax, “figurinai di cera.”)
We lunched in Coreglia then headed further up the Serchio.
We stumbled on a back road to Barga that took us through Tiglio. The road wasn’t on the map and was barely signposted. Steve enjoys driving on these narrow and extraordinarily windy roads, and I am loving riding on them as a passenger.
I
get tired of referring to every town in the
Serchio Valley
as charming, and most as beautiful, but it happens to be the
truth. Barga is a
hilltop town that fits on both counts. The town grew up around an
ancient Lombard
castle and was surrounded by a wall with three separate gates.
The upper and
older part of the town is for walking and has all sorts of narrow
alleys and
tight staircases. Apparently the streets play host to an unusual
'Living
Nativity' pageant each Christmas.
We visited the cathedral which was large and imposing. The choir box is in a large alcove, and overhead is a huge wooden statue of St. Christopher, believed to have been sculpted around the year 1000.
Entering Barga - it is identified as one
of the most beautiful towns in Italy
1000-year od statue of St. Christopher
On leaving Barga, we decide to work our way back to Pescaglia on small mountain roads that take us through Fàbbriche di Vàllico. When in Pescaglia town, we stopped at a bar we had visited on Saturday and got the parish phone number. Only problem is, the priest is hardly ever there. We continue on the back roads towards Lucca. We stop in Focchia for a sandwich and visit a cemetery where we find both Graziani and Gambogi dead.
When we arrive back in Ripafratta, Mario notes that he hasn’t had a chance to contact the Arcivescovato, but promises to do so in the morning.
Tuesday September 9.
On this rainy day, Steve and I went to Lucca (I think we spent half the time looking for parking but eventually we got there).
We walked through one of the gates (Santa Maria?) and did some shopping.
We head back to Ripafratta for lunch. Mario calls the Arcivescovato and gets numbers for the two priests that are in charge of the Pescaglia area churches.
We
return to Lucca with Mario. I get to see the Piazza Anfiteatro,
houses built around an old Roman amphitheater, and Via Fillungo, one of
the most well-known streets in town.
City Wall at Dusk
In the Piazza Anfiteatro
We do some
shopping, but I
keep looking at my watch making sure that we get back early enough for
Mario to
make that phone call to the parish priest. When we leave Lucca at
8 PM I think “we’re in,” but then we head to the supermarket
again. “Let’s get outta
here!” I think, and we finally get home after nine.
I continue to wait impatiently (Mario has started to make dinner as the clock ticks. I think he is convinced the only place these records are found is in the Arcivescovato and that the phone call will be a waste of time). Finally, between 9:30 and 10 PM he makes the call. “Yes,” says Father Belluomini, “we have the records,” but we’re very busy. Call me Thursday at lunch time, 12:30 or so." OK, I think, there’s still hope.
The
phone call being made, I can enjoy yet another
great
meal in the Marchisio kitchen. After checking my email, I
head for what I hope will be a good night's sleep.
Wednesday September 10.
I slept in. I was still lounging around content with doing nothing but it was clear Steve was ready to roll, so we rolled. We headed to Pisa sometime around 10:30 or so. We found a decent parking space and walked in to the area of the cathedral and the famous Leaning Tower. Also there was the Pisa Baptistery where Steve’s daughter Madeline was baptized. It’s not too many Italians, let alone Americans, that get baptized in that building. Pretty impressive.
Pisa Baptistry in foreground, cathedral and leaning tower in back
The cathedral at Pisa was made of the rubble of an older building
Here some of the blocks from that building can be seen
And then there’s the Leaning Tower itself.
No matter how
much I’d heard of it, no matter how many pictures I’d see from my very
young
childhood, it was still spectacular to see. We took lots of
pictures, visited
the Cathedral. We could have climbed the Tower, but it was more
than a 3 hour
wait. Someday . . .
Leaning Tower of Pisa
One of the things that has become a tradition on my trips has been taking a photo with the Hedgehog Ice Cream shop T-shirt. This is Ricardo and Gloria’s ice-cream hangout, and they have a “Where in the World has my T shirt been” display. I am responsible for a few of their exhibits. It is now documented that the Hedgehog T-shirt has been in Pisa.
Emilito holds up Leaning Tower
Around
1:30 we head back to Ripafratta for
lunch. Another fabulous meal - wine, bread, meat, buffala
mozzarella - etc.
Lunch at Mario's
We relax a bit, and then, as we are set to leave for an afternoon trip somewhere with Mario, Steve, in bed relaxing, decides that we are “a posto” (in place). Good call.
I spend about 3-4 hours addressing postcards, sorting digital pictures, making notes, and I still haven’t put a dent in the documentation I had expected to do.
Working Upstairs on Documentation, etc.
I don’t remember when dinner started, but at 11 PM we’re finishing off a coniglio dinner. Luckily I hadn’t stepped on a scale at the time. (When I finally did after arriving home I was shocked to see that my weight in pounds didn’t start with a “1” anymore.)
Mario has made some plans for tomorrow; I’m sure they’re great, but all I can think about is his 12:30 phone call to Fr. Belluomini and praying that I will at least get a chance, before I leave, to get my hands on some documents for a round of research.
At 1:30 AM I’m still playing around with notes, cards, photos, Fascist annuals. I guess I should sleep soon.
Thursday September 11.
We are awakened at 7:15 AM, and leave for La Spezia around 8. I wonder what happens if Fr. Belluomini says we can come examine some documents and we’re stuck so far out that can’t make it back. Steve says it’s not that far from La Spezia to Pescaglia. Mario says he’s sure the priest won’t see me today.
I have all my data with me and review them as we drive up. I realize how much better prepared I could have been. Not just knowing when the Archivi Vescovili were open (duh), but also making specific notes about exactly when and where to search. I make a resolve then and there to return far more prepared in the not-too-distant future.
I realize that I have become addicted to Graziani research! There’s so much to do – I suppose Giulio could do a lot of it, but he’s so damned expensive, and besides – I’d rather do it myself!
We
drive to Portovenere and park. As Mario
starts putting
in coins that take our parking time past 6 PM I realize that Fr.
Belluomini’s free
time better not be today.
Leaving Porto Venere
At
9:55 we board a boat from Portovenere to
Monterosso, the
last of the five villages that make up Liguria’s “Cinque Terre,” little
fishing
villages built into the side of the mountain on the
Mediterranean. The views
of the villages are breathtaking as is the view of the railway cut into
the
side of the mountain connecting the five of them. We pass
Riomaggiore,
Manarola, Corniglia and Vernazza on the way.
Manarola
Corniglia
Vermazza
We wander through the narrow impressive streets of Monterosso, visit a beautiful church, and stop for a little wine and bread. I look at my watch and see it’s 12:05. That means 12:30 is only 25 minutes away.
At 12:30 Mario calls Fr. Belluomini and is told “Saturday at 10 AM.” Excellent. Now I can relax and enjoy the rest of the day.
We jump on a train to Vernazza. It is about a 2 minute train ride. Mario says that by car it’s much more difficult, and in fact www.mapquest.co.uk says 23 minutes.
Mario is an avid photographer of trains
and his pictures have been on magazine covers
This is the train to Vernazza as it arrives in Montessoro
Steve on train to Vernazza
Vernazza, founded around 1000 A.D., is dominated by a beautiful church in the Gothic-Ligurian style. We hang out and relax at a small beach used by bathers and where many fishing boats are docked. There are zillions of tourists.
Vernazza at
the water, by beach
Steve had suggested that because of the cool then
hot days,
I bring a pair of pants that zips into shorts, and at Vernazza as it
warms up I
am able to take advantage of my new EMS purchase and switch to
shorts. Poor
Steve has worn long pants. Tsk tsk.
We
hang out watching people at the beach; I stop
for a
gelato at “Gelateria Artigianale” before getting back on a train to
Monterosso. We catch the 4 PM boat to Portovenere; if anything
the views on
the way back are even more spectacular than on the way there (of course
part of
it is perception – now I don’t have to worry about any phone calls).
Corniglia on return voyage. The afternoon sun created a
wonderful effect.
In Portovenere we stop for a coffee, I make a couple of purchases (buy Heidi a terra cotta version of the sun/moon figures that decorate her apartment), and we get back to the car just before the 18:05 expiry time.
Grotto dell'Artigiano in Porto Venere where I got Heidi some
celestial objects
We head back to Ripafratta, and then have a spectacular dinner at a restaurant just inside the city walls of Lucca (of course we have to park outside and walk through the walls).
It is called “Da Giulio in Pelleria,” and is located just inside the San Donato gate. We had a wonderful thick soup of “farro,” a grain which in English is “spelt,” which means as much to me as “farro.” My Food Channel child will later find this ignorance uncultured. Then “farinata,” a minestrone of greens and cornmeal. Then I had seppie (cuttlefish) in their own ink. One of the most common treats in my father’s home town in Spain, the sepia reminds me again that I am on the Mediterranean. On top of all this we had 3 bottles of excellent wine and some dessert and the entire tab comes out to 25 € each. Gotta love it.
It was a great end to a great day!
Friday September 12.
I get up late, we have lunch with Madeline’s godfather Silvano & his partner Silvia near the Pisa airport. Well, I say lunch, but it’s a huge dining experience. Food, wine, it is another wonderful luxurious 25 € pp meal. This is the good life.
Lunch with Silvano & Silvia
We then are treated to an adventure in finding Steve a pair of shoes for his big feet. This takes us on a drive to Livorno. While Steve is trying on shoes, I am on the phone to Delta Airlines trying to change my flight from Monday to Sunday. Can’t do it.
On our ride back we pass some very nice beach towns and visit a 10th century church. The only blight on the landscape we see is the fence to a U.S. base.
10th Century church San Piero a Grado near Pisa
Shortly after we get back to Ripafratta it is again time for pizza at I Cocodrilli. “No this isn’t happening,” my overfed belly cries out, and I decide to stay home and prepare for “the encounter” tomorrow. It’s a great decision.
When they return, Mario treats us to a slide show, including his great pictures of yesterday’s trip to Cinque Terre.
Although the last three days have been interesting, everything since Monday has been treading water waiting for the opportunity to search archives. Soon, soon, soon. . .
Saturday September 13.
This
is the day I have been waiting for - a chance to look at the documents.
I am ready when we leave at 8:30 AM. We have
breakfast in
Diecimo around 9:15 AM and get to the parish at 9:40. The priest,
Father
Flavio Belluomini, arrives a few minutes later. He takes us
in to his
house and shows us a cabinet full of documents. I salivate.
Emilito and Father Flavio Belluomini
Bookcase of Documents
Now comes the question that I’ve feared. “How long do you want to search?” I’ve thought about this a lot. I figure he’ll give us at least until lunchtime (in Italy 12:30 or even 1 PM), but I’m hoping we’ll be able to come back after lunch. I’m looking for 6-7 hours but hope I can live with three.
“Well,” I say, “I have so much to search for. . . as much time as you can give me.”
“I was thinking,” he says, “till 11 AM. That would give you one hour.”
Gulp!
I know from past experience that it
takes an hour
just to figure out the structure of the documentation. I tell him
quickly what
books I want, and tell Steve, “find all the Graziani you can and take
pictures!”
Steve, meanwhile, not into the nuances of structured searching, is intrigued by the possibility of going back into the 1600s and finding Graziani. Not very scientific is what I’m thinking. But in the end, as he’s there as a non-involved host, I tell him, “Do what you like, just take pictures.”
Meanwhile I’m looking for Graziani, any Graziani, and aiming my digital camera and snapping photos. Snap! Snap! Snap! Luckily the light is bright enough that 95% of the pictures can be taken without flash. (In fact, I’m not sure why some pictures call out for flash as they all have the same light on them.)
I just basically take pictures for an hour, of marriage and birth certificates. I’ll sort it out later, I think to myself. Snap! Snap! Snap!
To think, I’d wanted to catalog all the books, list the subject, years, etc. Damn! Snap! Snap! Snap! I make sure I get my great-great-great grandfather Romano's baptismal birth certificate.
Also, it turns out that in the 18th and 19th century Villa a Roggio was a different parish from Pescaglia, so all the Marchi data will be unavailable until I get access to those data. Another time, I think, and Snap! Snap! Snap!
A
parishioner arrives around 11 and calls Fr.
Belluomini
out. We end up getting another 20 minutes. Steve starts
putting books away –
me? Snap! Snap! Snap!
He gets back, we pack up and leave. I give him a Star of Bethlehem. I hope it enlightens him for the next time I visit.
I must note that in all my Snap! Snap! Snap! frenzy, however, there was one thing that did make me pause. A couple of years ago, I was in contact with a Dr. Gilberto Graciani, of New Jersey and Puerto Rico. He claimed to have a lot of family information, but when he said all the Graciani he knew had come from Corsica, I kind of lost interest, because to my knowledge there has been no Corsican connection.
While photographing the baptismal certificate of Clemente Graziani, born in Pescaglia in 1792, I notice that, written in the margin are the words “morto in Corsica 14 7bre 1821” (died in Corsica 14 September 1821)!! So . . . it may be coincidence, but more than likely there was some kind of contact between the Pescaglia and Corsica Graziani.
I also wonder if this same marginal note has been made in the Arcivescovato copy of the baptismal certificate, or if I just lucked out by doing my searching in Pescaglia itself.
Leaving Flavio’s house, we notice that the parish
church of SS Peter and Paul – where my great-great-great grandfather
and his father and
who knows how many more antenatti were born – is open and we go in,
examine it,
and take photos. I ask Father Belluomini, who passes by, how old
the church is and he say, "Quite old."
Choir Loft
Statue
Outside the church we find some chestnuts, take some pictures, and head off.
Villabuona from parish church (telephoto shot)
We return to Villabuona to give Signora Pieroni some cookies Steve has bought for her. She is very pleased. Prepared to leave, I just casually ask “Is the Oratorio still used?” She looks up intensely and says “I have the key!”
The oratorio (chapel) of Villabuona
The altar of the oratorio / Emilito
& Signora Pieroni
Steve looking to the back of the chapel
We take several pictures in this church, dedicated to St. Anthony of Padua and listen as Signora Pieroni tells us of all the miracles attributed to the Virgin. I remember most the time there was a storm “greater than any we’d ever seen,” and her husband was lost. She prayed to the Madonna and he returned. “There are a lot of people now,” she says disappointedly, “that no longer believe in the Virgin’s power. But I know how often it’s worked.”
I need to get back to this population of 8 thing. Was this town densely populated in your time, I ask (well I had no idea how to say densely populated, but I got the idea across – well actually Steve did). Oh yes, she said, when we were married it was full. How full is full, I ask. Well, she says, there are about 30 houses here.
“When were you married,” I ask, trying to pin down when it was that the town was thriving. “At the end of the war,” she says. “How were things in the war?” I ask. (Note that when I say “I,” usually I mean I told Steve to ask her.)
She starts talking about the war, and I instantly remember why I normally bring tape recorders on family trips. She begins speaking so quickly and animatedly that even Steve is only catching pieces of her tale. Some highlights:
Life was terrible during the war. The Germans arrived and terrorized the population. They stole everything, even, she notes with amazement that has survived nearly 60 years, “women’s wedding rings.” She noted that her brother, although young and thin, was tall, and they hid him from the Germans throughout the occupation because they were afraid they’d take him.
She found herself one time with a German rifle pressed against her chest. A lot of the rest of her story went un-understood, but she did note that after three days in one room without food, she escaped by letting herself out of the upper story room where she was being held, holding onto a rope. And found an apple to eat.
She suddenly talked about an “Americano nero” (she stressed the “nero – capisce?” – a black American, do you understand?) that was killed on the top of the mountain.
I know that the US army was segregated through World War II and beyond and look strangely at Steve, but the retired US Army Colonel knows that the 92nd Buffalo Division, an all-black unit, was in fact in combat precisely in this region of Italy in 1944 - 1945.
In fact, as I find out later via Google, James McBride’s recent book “Miracle at Santa Anna” is “the story of a Negro soldier in the 92nd all-black, segregated Buffalo Division, who befriends a six-year-old Italian boy who leads the solder and his squad into the Serchio Valley and the site of a little known, tragic massacre.” The site of this 1944 massacre is Stazzema. Stazzema is less than 5 miles from Pescaglia as the crow flies (in fact the comune of Stazzema borders the comune of Pescaglia), but looking at the map, it seems as if “you can’t get there from here”: there are no roads over or through the mountains. In fact (random information department), www.mapquest.co.uk indicates it to be more than an hour and a half drive (and 45 miles in the process) to get between Pescaglia town and Stazzema town. You have to double back to the outskirts of Lucca and nearly to the Mediterranean shore to do it.
As
we're leaving, I once again look at the road down from Villabuona.
Then I recall how tiny and high the town had looked from the
parish church. And I think about the baptismal records and how
everyone born during the daylight hours was baptized on the same day,
and those at night were baptized the next day. And, despite the chapel
in Villabuona, except for bad weather people were baptized in the
parish church. So I wonder again, what are all the logistics for
transporting the baby from Villabuona to the parish church and back?
And - how could I find out?
Road down the hill into the valley from Villabuona -
200 years ago (without the blacktop) this was the start
of a newborn's trip to be baptized
Yet another photo of Villabuona from the parish
church where Romano and Flavio were baptized
These images made Emilito continue to reflect on the baptism trek
Anyway, following this surprisingly extraordinarily interesting visit, we head to the Devil’s Bridge where we have a very nice lunch. Following lunch, we walk across the bridge and enjoy the views.
We drive back to Pescaglia in order to pick up another windy mountainous route back home. We drive through the really nice little mountain towns of Fiano and Loppeglia.
Returning to Mario’s, I realize I must pack. I start stuffing things into bags.
Somewhere between 8 and 9, Ermanno and Grazziella show up and it’s the beginning of another gourmet dining experience. We start with caviar, which strikes me as better than I last remember. And it just keeps getting better and better.
Sunday September 14.
Steve’s
leaving today; and I have to be at the
airport at 5 AM tomorrow for a 6 AM flight, so I’ve arranged a hotel
that’s not too far. We take
Steve to the airport (Galileo Galilei International), hang out till his
plane
leaves, then Mario drops me off at La Torre hotel, right near the Pisa
train
station.
It’s clean enough and the phone works (i.e. I can get online), so what more could I ask for? Especially as the plan was to spend 90% of the time in the hotel deciphering and recording all the photographs I’d taken at the Pescaglia parish.
Well, decent food, for one thing. As it turns out, this is a pretty bad part of town, and even though the restaurant at which I was to have my last dinner had a nice-looking and relatively crowded outdoor seating area (they must have all been tourists!) the food was atrocious and overpriced. When the house wine is vinegary, the spaghetti worse than anything you’d find in the US (etc), and they automatically add 15% to the bill, bringing it to 26 € (i.e. the most expensive meal of the week), it’s a disappointing way to end your culinary week. When in Pisa, stay away from the Ristorante Centrale! But I was able to get in a few more hours of analyzing data, and that was fun.
During my examination of the digital photos I realize that the quality of the pictures is astounding. I have zeroed in on the individual documents themselves, which often took up a third of a page or less, but in one case I photographed the entire double page of a book (probably somewhere around 11” x 17” ) – just to show what the typical pages looked like. As it turns out even that picture – taken with no flash at “normal” [as opposed to “high”] resolution on a 2.1 MB digital camera, was completely readable. It strikes me I could just photograph the entire collection for 3-4 centuries in a couple of days (if allowed the time and with a helper or two), recreate my own books, and do the analyzing later. Food for thought. And planning!
Monday September 15.
I had Heide call me at 4 AM from the US, so that was a nice wake-up call. Got a cab to the airport at 4:30 AM, then had to stand outside with another group of people that had arrived to check in to early flights.
I have six hours to kill in the Milan airport, so I find an outlet, plug in and continue data analyzing. I’m still less than half way there when I have to think about getting on my homebound flight.
No complications. On the way home, I begin reading Seabiscuit. So much for getting sleep on the flight – it’s a page turner!
Tuesday, September 16.
Well, as they say “back to the grind.” There is a quality audit planned for November at my place of employment that I need to work on – it’s not only a surveillance audit but an upgrade as well. Furthermore, after I had worked hard to move the audit back a week to enable me to take a rugby trip to Singapore – a trip I really wanted to go on – I find that the audit has not been moved and that I’ll have to miss Singapore. From dream to nightmare.
Oh, well. I’ll just continue analyzing my 100+ pictures (that’s 100+ pictures just of documents: in the end I got about 70 pics and Steve about 30) and plan for the next trip. By the time my trips are done – the Good Lord willing and the creeks don’t rise – I will have catalogued 4 centuries of Pescaglia history. Graziani, Marchi, Gambogi, Bartelloni, Valentini, . . . bring ‘em on!
For maps of some of the places visited click
here.