When I reached 40 years of age, I started to witness changes in physical appearance, marital status and even death of those around me. These transformations gave me the impetus to act on a desire that went unfulfilled too long — to visit Molfetta, the land of my parents. I also wished to meet my father’s relatives for the first time. I was advised that September and Easter time was the best time to visit.
Monte Gargano, a sacred place, is a dark limestone peninsula that dramatically juts 40 miles out into the azure sea. There one finds a shrine in honor of St. Michael the Archangel in the cave where he was said to have appeared dressed in full armor. For over 1,500 years, pilgrims from all over Europe have prayed at this shrine.
As my plane flew by Monte Gargano, I saw a varying landscape of wheat fields, vineyards, and olive groves woven into a patchwork of beautiful green, yellow and brown rectangles and squares. Then the medieval cities of stone carved into the mountains and bordering the coastline came into view. My heart began to race as I realized one of the towns along the water was my final destination — Molfetta.
Northward we drove through farmlands with centuries old vineyards, and groves of straining, contorted and knobby olive trees. We also passed two unusual structures that piqued my curiosity – the pagliaros and towers. Ancient stone observation towers intermittently dot the countryside along the highway. I later learned that for centuries the inhabitants of these stone sentinels had monitored the sea for the invading hordes of Greeks, Romans, Lombards, Normans, Saracens, Spanish, French and Venetians. Using bells by day and lighting torches by night, these observation towers could efficiently signal a message down the coast, around the heel and toe to Sicily. Though time and the elements have systematically eroded most of the towers along the coast down to their skeletal shells, at least thirty unique towers exist in the immediate environs of Molfetta.
The other structure dotting the landscape was the pagliaro. It is a short, stout, circular stone barn with a thatched roof, one doorway and no windows. Crops and farming implements are stored there.
In 1025, Molfetta was the episcopal seat and home to a feisty Norman knight name Jocelyn, Lord of Molfetta. The tall, blond Jocelin was the typical Norman knight – notorious for being a lawless liar who committed rape, robbery, blackmail and murder. Jocelyn acquired Molfetta as payment for services rendered to Robert Guiscard. As his vassal he assisted Guiscard with the Norman takeover of Apulia. The towns along the coast, such as Molfetta, Trani and Bari, had been part of the Magna Grecia for centuries. Later Jocelin found that the Greeks paid even more handsomely. He changed loyalties and lead many an insurrection against the Normans. For this he was given the Dukedom of Corinth in Greece and the designation of “archenemy” of Guiscard.
Robert Guiscard, on the other hand, was a quick-witted, eclectic military genius who started from nothing and died undefeated. In 1071, he finally wrestled complete control of Bari, the Greek capital, and the coastal towns, such as Molfetta, away from Jocelyn, and his Greek benefactors. Jocelyn was never heard of again, but Guiscard’s descendants prospered and one, Frederick II, became the Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire. One of his castles, Castel del Monte, is near Molfetta.
This massive edifice, exemplifying Romanesque-Pugliese architecture, is an Italian historic landmark. It has three cupolas centered over the nave, two slender towers and bare, stone walls which are strikingly stark, yet beautifully solemn. It is much more reminiscent of a Norman castle than an Italian cathedral. It was one of the only parishes in Molfetta until a 16th century Baroque cathedral, which usurped its name, was built. The old Church was then given a new name, that of the Church of St. Conrad. Today, most people call the Duomo “La Chiesa Vecchia”, the old church.
Old Molfetta, with its Duomo, stood on an island which was totally surrounded by thick stone walls and a massive tower built by the Passari family. These walls served as protection against marauders and as a sea wall that, in inclement weather, bore the brunt of the crashing waves. Centuries later, the western side of the island was filled in and connected with the mainland, creating a wide street now called Via Dante.
This street is in direct contrast to the shadowy streets within the walls. Inside the sparsely populated Molfetta Vecchia, the silent and narrow twisting streets resemble a deserted Arabian casbah, having only three small entrances. Molfetta Vecchia is called in dialect “ind’alla terre” which means “in the ground”. One theory for this term relates to the description of what occurred when invaders entered the walls. It was as if they were swallowed up by the ground. The encroachers would enter the confusingly winding streets only to find themselves disoriented and trapped when they were attacked from the rooftops of the two and three-story buildings.
Some of “Molfetta Vecchia” stands by virtue of the wooden harnesses holding up the walls of the buildings. The rehabilitated sections have beautiful wooden doors and new iron balconies and plaques identifying a noble residence or municipal building and the date. Here I saw the first sign of Easter with flowers filling the balconies. Little by little people are returning to live in the rehabilitated buildings. They have even converted a large residence on the water into a luxurious bed and breakfast. The sections that are barely livable are inhabited by African and Albanian squatters.
Surrounding the town on three sides is modern Molfetta. I use the world “modern” loosely, as one neighborhood such as the “Camere Nuove” dates back to the 16th century. Each of the new divisions has its own unique style, beautiful balconies filled with plants and flowers and shutters. Almost every building in the town has green shutters.
“Modern Molfetta” has many churches and chapels of varying sizes and styles, such as Romanesque-Pugliese, Neoclassic, Baroque, Gothic, Iconic-Greek, Early and late Renaissance and Modern. These churches are filled with lifelike statues, frescos, tapestries and paintings done by local as well as European artists. I was told that since it was Easter Thursday, we would be visiting many churches and each one would be filled with beautiful floral arrangements and statues that would be used in the Easter procession that was coming up.
We passed my father’s birthplace, 25 Via Sigismondo, a winding cobblestone street whose streets were as narrow as those in Molfetta Vecchia. Down the lane was great-grandfather’s apartment, which was on the ground floor. I was overcome with emotion just looking at the buildings.
The men retrieve the statues for the Stations of the Cross and walk the lanes of the town for eight hours before they are returned to their respective churches. This is a real labor of love for these men, they take their job very seriously and offer up their discomfort. The men were dressed in black, white with red trim, red, brown, orange. Each color represented a fraternity and church.
Men women and children gather along the route to listen to brass band that plays throughout the entire route. People pray, some cry at seeing the bruised body of Jesus, other cry for Mary his mother. Children are dressed as people from the bible at Easter from a very young age and often follow along for awhile, especially if their father is one of the cloaked participants. My father was partial to his John the Baptist costume when he was a little boy. Since his paternal grand-father was Chief of Police and the other one was a renowned business man, who made coaches and wagons for the rich, traveling to Austria for the wood for his vehicles, they were part of the Confraternity of Death.
On Easter Sunday, the piazza’s and balconies around town were bursting with flowers and Palm Crosses and the bakery windows were filled with baked goods such as the ‘La Colomba Pasquale,’ the Easter Dove, and chocolate eggs and bunnies of every size.
Uncle Torino passed away recently and I know their Easter this year will be very somber. I have very fond memories of my aunt and uncle and the three cousins. They made every effort to show me Molfetta and its environs. I have been there since, but there is nothing like the first time you become acquainted with your family history and the life your great-grandparents, grandparents and parents lived in Italy.