I haven't seen or heard
the traditional Neapolitan Christmas musicians much this
year, but then I have been avoiding the crowded areas of
town where they are most likely to appear. They are buskers
—street musicians— and there are always two of them,
dressed as shepherds; one plays the Neapolitan bagpipe, called
the zampogna and the other plays the ciaramella,
a kind of folk oboe. (image, below, right)
It
seems to me that they always play the same thing: a
melancholy, minor carol called, in the original
Neapolitan, Quanno Nascette Ninno (When the
Child was Born), said to be by Alfonso Maria de’ Liguori
(1696-1787) a famous Neapolitan cleric and founder of
the Catholic order known as The Redemptorists, or the
Congregation of the Most Holy Redeemer. The order
resides in a strikingly picturesque monastery on a knoll
on the slopes of Vesuvius (photo, left). (The hill,
itself, is now named for Alfonso, proclaimed St. Alfonso
in 1839. The property came into possession of the
Redemptorists in the 1950s. The church on the grounds is
named San Michele Arcangelo. Separate
item here.) That carol is the basis for the best
known Italian carol, Tu Scendi dalle Stelle,
except that the newer, Italian version is in a major
key. The Italian words are apparently by Pope Pius IX
(1846-1878). If known to an English-language audience at
all, Tu Scendi dalle Stelle is known as From
Starry Skies Descending. It still sounds to me as
if the only thing the Pope did was happy up the original
a bit by putting it in a major key. In an unrelated (I
think) episode, this is the same Pope who proclaimed de'
Liguori Doctor of the Church in 1871.
Italian
translations of carols from other languages abound, but
there is not the strong English and German tradition of
the carol, nor is there anything like the
mid-20th-century American secular Christmas song, ones
such as Silver Bells, Have Yourself a Merry
Little Christmas, I’ll Be Home for Christmas,
and White Christmas. In any event, in a crowded
bookshop this morning, while jousting for one of the few
remaining copies of a book my wife wants for Christmas,
I was mistreated to a horrible version of Oh, Holy
Night, being pop-sung through the in-house audio
system by some American singer whose name I do not know.