An Armchair Traveller's History of Apulia (38 page)

Throughout, the soldiers from Piedmont retaliated with the utmost savagery. Admittedly they were under enormous pressure, constantly ambushed, besides knowing that they would be tortured and murdered if captured. They were also decimated by malaria – at one point, out of each company of a hundred men only thirty-five were fit for service. A former British Foreign Secretary, the Earl of Malmesbury, commented with some exaggeration that “The cruelties of the Piedmontese armies to the Neapolitan royalists were unsurpassed in any civil war.”

Undeniably, it was a horrible war, with reports of men being burned alive or crucified by both sides. Hundreds of Apulian non-combattants were killed, many others fleeing to the cities, leaving their farms deserted or their shops boarded up. Most of the towns and the
masserie
were ringed by trenches and stockades. It was impossible to travel anywhere without a heavily armed escort, while Bari was cut off by land. The only reasonably safe people were those landowners who, like the old feudal barons, had recruited private armies.

All over Apulia men were imprisoned without trial simply be-cause some enemy had seized the opportunity of settling an old score, charges of collaboration with brigands being easily fabricated. Landowners whose
masserie
had not been raided fell under suspicion automatically while senior officials were often accused without any justification of supplying rifles and ammunition. Despite having shown slavish loyalty to the new regime, the
sindaco
of Alberobello was charged with taking bribes and with helping a notorious brigand, Giorgio Palmisani, to break out of prison. He was only acquitted after spending months under house arrest.

New brigand leaders were always emerging to fill the places of those who had been killed or captured. Among the most notorious were the psychopath Caruso, Crocco’s lieutenant ‘Ninco Nanco’ Coppa, a former Borbone soldier, and Varanelli, who was rumoured to eat human flesh. Lesser men included ‘Brucciapaese’, ‘Mangiacavallo’ and ‘Orecchiomozzo’, each one with a small band of followers.

Caruso, once a cowherd of the Prince of San Severo, possessed real military talent. By the end of 1862 he was leading the largest surviving
comitiva
in Apulia, 200 mounted men according to the Piedmontese garrison commander at Spinazzola. He never took prisoners, invariably killing enemy wounded. Having demanded bread, sheep and fodder from a peasant named Antonio Picciuti, after receiving them he seized Picciuti’s hand, laid it on a table and chopped it off, as a warning that he would need more next time. On another occasion he hacked off the arms and legs of a suspected informer before throwing him into a cauldron of boiling water. During the single month of September 1863 he is said to have personally killed 200 people. By then he had been driven into the Benevento where, after further atrocities, his band was wiped out. In December, accompanied by a sole surviving follower, Caruso was captured in the hovel of his sixteen year old mistress Filomena and immediately shot.

‘Ninco-Nanco’, a game-keeper formerly in prison for murder, operated with fifty horsemen in the Murgia between Altamura and Minervino, hiding in the ravines. During the terrible winter of 1863–4 his
comitiva
was hunted down and broken, ‘Ninco-Nanco’ being apparently killed in the storming of a
masseria
where he had taken refuge. But somehow he got away, escaping to the Papal States, from where he sent a defiant message, “Ninco-Nanco lives!”

Other brigands held out in the Abruzzi and the Piedmontese garrisons dared not relax. This explains Mme Figuier’s alarming experience in her
locanda
at Trani during the winter of 1865. She had observed some suspicious looking men muffled in cloaks standing round the stove when a young chamber-maid warned her that she and her husband were in the gravest danger, telling her how to answer questions she was going to ask in front of them.

‘”You are Spanish, surely Signora, aren’t you?’, the little servant girl asked me loudly. ‘You have never had a father, a brother or a fiancé who was a soldier, have you? Isn’t it true that you trust in the Virgin and that you think brigands are good men who earn a living by taking what the rich can easily spare?’” Realising that her husband had been mistaken for a Piedmontese officer – Piedmontese officers often spoke French among themselves – Mme Figuier hastily agreed. Knowing the brigands’ sympathy for the Carlist guerillas in Spain, she added that the bands in the Abruzzi were being joined daily by Spaniards. Smiling, the men doffed their hats, offering to protect the lady and her husband during their stay.

In 1865–7 the Piedmontese officials at Naples made certain of the co-operation of the Southern monied classes by allowing them to buy up the confiscated crown and church lands, producing the wretched social consequences that have been described in earlier chapters. As Francis II’s brother-in-law, the Austrian Emperor Franz-Joseph was understandably eager to see him restored, but in 1866 Austria’s defeat by Prussia and the new Italian state finally dispelled all hope of a restoration. The kingdom of the Two Sicilies degenerated into
La Questione Meridionale
(The Southern Question) – poverty stricken, despised Southern Italy.

The handful of Apulian brigands who survived in the Abruzzi fled across the Papal frontier. Whether genuine royalists like Sergeant Romano or psychopaths like Caruso, they had been the last defenders of the ancient
Regno
. Now that they were eliminated, the
Risorgimento
’s asset-stripping could be completed without any fear of interference. Nothing remained to deter speculators from investing in the ‘Apulian Texas’, and a new way of life lay ahead for the labourers on the Tavoliere.

Occasionally those who found conditions in the labour gangs beyond endurance still took to the ravines in the Murge, from where they raided lonely
masserie
, but by 1900, brigands who rode out from caves had been replaced by urban gangsters and were passing into folk-memory.

There is a bitter legacy. As a young man in Turin, Antonio Gramsci, one of the founders of the Italian Communist Party, met Piedmontese veterans of the Brigands’ War, and he always remembered the hatred they felt for their ‘Southern brothers.” Apulia, on the other hand, has neither forgotten nor forgiven its “liberation.”

Part XIV

THERE HAS BEEN A COMPLETE TRANSFORMATION since 1945. For all its beauty, the old Apulia was a harsh, cruel land, most of whose inhabitants lived a wretchedly hard life. In contrast today’s Apulians have grown rich. Yet the region remains strikingly different from the rest of Italy, with strong echoes from the past – a dramatic folk-piety and even witchcraft surviving in high-rise flats.

The transformation is partly due to “the coming of the water.” Often attributed to the great aqueduct completed by the Duce in 1939, in reality this owes far more to modern wells 200 metres deep; the rainfall in winter has always been high and, as Henry Swinburne observed, it must go somewhere. Not only has the water made life more agreeable for everybody, but it has done wonders for farming. Malaria has been eradicated – before 1945, quinine was part of the staple diet in low-lying areas, but pesticides have wiped out the anopheles mosquito.

The
latifondisti
now farm the land themselves, using the latest machinery instead of work-gangs. (Several of these gentleman-farmers bear some of the oldest names among those of the historic nobility.) Seventy per cent of Italy’s fruit and vegetables comes from Apulia, while Apulian oil provides a third of the peninsula’s entire output and Apulian wine a sixth. In addition, early vegetables for Northern Europe are grown here on a massive scale. Even so, the old high-wheeled Apulian cart can occasionally be seen, while the short-handled mattock that crippled their fathers is still used by a few peasant smallholders, although these are a fast dwindling breed.

Bari, whose population has risen to 350,000, flourishes so much that Northerners call it the ‘Milan of the South’. Besides producing tyres and other rubber goods on a huge scale, it has factories that specialise in electronics and micro-chips, while the port is busier than ever, playing an increasingly vital role in the commercial life of the Adriatic. The university has a particularly fine record of industrial research, although it is probably best known for a faculty of agriculture from which the entire region benefits. It also supplies Italy with countless lawyers, including many judges and a host of distinguished advocates.

The Feast of St Nicholas is celebrated as devoutly as ever. Nowadays Russian pilgrims come too, his crypt chapel in the basilica resounding with Slavonic chant since he has always been one of the great miracle-workers of Holy Russia. These pilgrims also recall how another St Nicholas (canonised in 2000) prayed here in 1892, when he was still the young Tsarevich.

Mercifully, industrialisation affects only one or two other small areas, such as the steel-works at Tàranto or the oil-refinery at Brìndisi. What really does hurt the landscape, however, are the blocks of hideous high-rise flats, tall, grey and forbidding, that are starting to obscure some of the little white cities.

In many places serious social problems have resulted from moving large numbers of people into flats like these, problems compounded by the spread of drugs since the early 1980s. Another worry is the influx of would-be immigrants who enter from Albania, Montenegro or North Africa; troops based at Bari patrol the coast to intercept them. (If caught, these unfortunate people are treated with considerably more humanity than in other Mediterranean countries.) Yet there is plenty of hope for the future, and with their growing wealth the Apulians feel a justifiable optimism.

Judging from all the books published at Bari, the Apulians must be fascinated by their history. Castles and cathedrals are very well maintained, with an admirable programme of restoration. (Sadly, despite the efforts of the World Monuments Fund this does not apply to the grotto churches, where the frescoes continue to fade). Traditional peasant food, not so long ago considered quite unfit for gentry, now appears in the smartest restaurants.
La Cucina Pugliese
(The Pugliese Cuisine), based on fish, pasta and vegetables, has seen a triumphant revival, the difference being that while in former days one of its dishes was an entire meal, often a selection of them are now served as an hors d’ oeuvres. Even the Apulian mafia bear a title redolent of history,
La Sacra Corona Unità
(United Sacred Crown), which seems to hint at memories of the old brigands and the war to save the
Mezzogiorno
from Northern invasion – although the brigands never dealt in drugs, Russian prostitutes or illegal immigrants – nor did they blow up school children, as happened recently in Brìndisi.

With its low white cliffs along the Adriatic and its long sandy beaches along the Ionian Sea, and with some really excellent hotels, Apulia’s tourist potential is beginning to be exploited. This is scarcely surprising since the region has so many attractive features. It will always be a paradise for everybody interested in classical history or architecture while, if reserved, its charming inhabitants seem to welcome visitors.

Although hardships of the sort described in our book are fortunately a thing of the past, they have bequeathed some very impressive qualities. Amongst them is an awe-inspiring capacity for grinding hard work and a razor-sharp instinct for survival, which will ensure Apulia’s success in the difficult new Europe.

WE WOULD LIKE TO THANK, in particular: H. E. Dr. Boris Bianchieri, formerly Italian Ambassador in London; Professor Rosangela Barone of the Italian Cultural Institute; Professor Antonio Graniti of Bari University, Don Riccardo Tomacelli-Filomarino (Duca di Torre a Mare) and Donna Irene Tomacelli-Filomarino, and our agent Andrew Lownie.

We are also grateful to Don Gennaro del Balzo, Don Grazio Gianfreda (Parocco of Otranto Cathedral), Don Giuseppe Civerra of the Santuario S. Salvatore, Andria, and Dr. Italo Palasciano, who gave us otherwise unobtainable information.

We owe a lot to the people of Gioia del Colle, above all to the brothers Giuseppe, Giovanni and Lucio Romano.

We would also like to thank Ellie Shillito of Haus Publishing for her patience and unfailing help in preparing the new edition.

Picture credits

The authors and publishers wish to express their thanks to the following sources of illustrative material for permission to reproduce it. They will make the proper acknowledgements in future editions in the event that any omissions have occurred.

London Library: chapters 13, 22, 35, 47, 54, 55. Marcok: chapter 16. Susan Mountgarret: chapters 3, 9, 17, 18, 23, 24, 27, 31, 32, 34, 36, 44, 45, 48, 50. Zhebiton: chapter 37

THE BOOKS used by eighteenth century travellers were Pietro Giannone’s “Istoria Civile del Regno di Napoli”, first published in 1723, and the 25 volume “Raccolta di tutti i più rinomati scrittori dell’Istoria Generale del Regno”, published between 1769 and 1777, and which includes the early histories of such writers as Pontano and Porzio (see below). For art they consulted Bernado de Dominici’s delightfully scandalous “Vite dei Pittori, Scultori ed Architetti Napoletani”, which appeared in 1742. Nineteenth century travellers supplemented these with Coletta’s “Storia del Reame di Napoli dal 1734–1825”, which came out in 1848, and Giustiniani’s “Dizionario Geografico”, published in ten volumes between 1797 and 1805. The English read Swinburne and Keppel Craven but Berkeley remained unknown until the 1870s.

Accounts by travellers

Berkeley, G.:
The Works of George Berkeley
, Oxford 1871

Bertoldi, G.:
Memoirs of the Secret Societies of the South of Italy
, London 1821

Blewitt, O.:
A Handbook for Travellers in Southern Italy; being a guide to the continental portion of the Two Sicilies
, London 1853