The Edicola Votiva
English, "votive" refers to something done —in this
case, something built— in fulfillment of a vow. An aedicula
(from the Latin diminutive of aedes,
dwelling) is a small structure sheltering an altar or
(in ancient Rome) an image of a household god. Thus,
"votive aedicula" would be an accurate rendering of the
phrase in the title, above. Nevertheless, I am going to
use "votive wall shrine" because (1) it sounds better,
(2) I didn't know there was even such as word as
"aedicula" in English until it jumped up at me out of
the OED and (3) "edicola" in modern Italian is generally
a street newspaper stand. (Thus, I foil perpetrators of
really rotten translations. "Promissory newsstand" comes
to mind. That is almost not a joke. I am particularly
angry with some local translators at the moment.)
many hundreds of small shrines, such as the ones in these
photos, in Naples, particularly in the older sections of
the city; that is, the Sanità
(the section in back of the National
Museum on the way to the catacombs
and the Capodimonte hill),
the adjacent Vergini
quarter, the Spanish Quarter
(the square blocks on the west side
of via Toledo/Roma),
and the historic center of the city
(bounded by the east-west streets of "Spaccanapoli," via
dei Tribunali, and via Anticaglia). The shrines are
usually found embedded in the outer walls of dwellings to
face on the street, but they may also be in courtyards or
in stairwells within the buildings themselves. They almost
all contain a religious image, perhaps a crucifix or an
image of the Madonna or a saint, and some have dates
telling you when they were put in place. (They may be
quite recent; this is still quite a living tradition.)
They are usually clean and well-maintained and may contain
flowers and votive candles. There is usually an
inscription saying that the shrine was erected per grazie ricevute
(for grace received) or ex
voto, in fulfillment of a vow.
are certainly not new, nor confined to Christianity,
much less the city of Naples; yet, their abundance in
Naples is noteworthy and apparently has a precise
historical origin. Gregorio
Maria Rocco (1700-1782) was a Dominican friar
known as a patron of the have-nots and who was
apparently the prime mover in convincing Charles III of Bourbon to
start building the massive (and never finished) Albergo dei Poveri (the
Royal Poorhouse) in Naples. Rocco's other claim to fame
in the history of the city, was the institution of this
tradition of shrines lit by oil lamps and candles in
order to take back the dark alleys of mid-18th-century
Naples from petty thieves, who were in the habit of
stringing rope at ankle level across the way in order to
trip their victims. At first, Rocco got the king to
approve straight good-old government-issue oil lamps.
Ho-ho.They were promptly destroyed by thieves. Then,
banking on the Neapolitan respect for and devotion to
the saints of the city, he got people to put up
illuminated religious shrines. (photo,
left, by Larry Ray)
says that these shrines, in fact, did make the streets
safer at night; the collective candlepower of all the
shrines made it easier to see where you were going, and
perhaps the "spiritual light" worked its will, as well.
Even thieves, ever devout, were reluctant to violate the
Tenth Commandment with the Virgin Mary staring down at
of Votive Shrine
-or, What Happens in Purgatory Stays in Purgatory
I had this recent note from author MK of London* (who enclosed the image on the right) . He notes that there is a peculiar kind of wall shine, not quite the same as those mentioned in the entry directly above:
He is referring to the historic center of Naples (this map), and a shop that makes a specific kind of wall shrine to “souls in purgatory" - anime purganti). The proprietor of the the shop says that this particular kind of shrine originated at Pozzuoli and Lake Averno in the middle ages and that "by then [the Middle Ages]" the lake was a "purgatorial rather than a pagan" site." Is that possible? Maybe possible, but, at least in my view, not likely. The trick here, it seems to me, is to distinguish hell from purgatory. I asked my local goddess of research, Selene Salvi. She said, Socratically, that she knew nothing but then told me everything she didn't know. It's a lot and it's tricky.
You know those marvellous anime del purgatorio wall shrines you see in the old city, those terra cotta figurines engulfed in flames. Somebody told me they have their origin in the Middle Ages, when it was considered that anyone who was foolish enough to swim in Lake Avernus died soon after, that by then it was considered a purgatorial rather than a pagan site. (I know the ancient belief about the birds, of course)...
* MK -Marius Kociejowski, author of the forthcoming The Serpent Coiled in Naples. More on that book at this link.
You gods, whose is the realm of spirits, and you, dumb shadows, and Chaos, Phlegethon, wide silent places of the night, let me tell what I have heard: by your power, let me reveal things buried in the deep earth, and the darkness.My correspondent's comment on the “ancient belief about the birds” refers to early Greek presence at Averno (c. 600 BC and the origin of the name Avernus. The name plausibly comes from the Greek "Aorno", meaning "without birds". The Greeks noticed that birds avoided flying above the lake, because of the very real stench of sulfur rising from the local subsoil and adjacent Solfatara volcano. That volcano, a popular tourist attraction, is a remnant of the ancient Campanian Ignimbrite eruption from 40,000 years ago. That event formed the entire area of the Campi Flegrei, the Fiery Fields. They are still Fiery and Brimstony, such that when the wind is blowing just wrong, even humans—forget the birds—don't much care for the place.
—The Aeneid VI, 264-67, trans. A.S.Kline
The underworld unleashes in us a feeling of the sacred; it has not come down upon us from the heavens, is not inspired by gazing from night-time terraces and contemplating comets, eclipses and constellations, but rather by scenting the gasses of the Fiery Fields, the Campi Flegrei and hearing the snarl of the broken earth and seeing the rivers of fire in the bowels of the volcano. [from Napòlide, pub. Napoli, Dante & Descartes, 2006. ISBN 88-88142-88-6]But note that it is not just fearful; there is “a feeling of the sacred.” Just as sulfur/brimstone has medicinal and beneficial properties, so does fire. It cleanses, purifies. My lay anthropological understanding of the RC concept of Purgatory is that it was seen, at least originally, as an intermediate, temporary state after physical death, a state of non-Grace (meaning that your immortal soul was denied access to the glories of God and Heaven, while you were cleansed of your remaining small sins). But it was temporary; if you were in Purgatory, sooner or later, you would be in Heaven, with a little help from your friends. I repeat: Hell is bad. Purgatory is good.
I have really never seen those little shrines, but I found the addresses of some places that handle them and read that people have artisans fashion these small terracotta pieces in the image of their dearly departed. Then they place the pieces in niches by the roadside; passers-by, with their prayers, can thus help those who are being cleansed and facilitate their passage into Paradise. I can't tell you how far back the tradition goes, but it reminds me of similar small altars of the Lares of ancient Rome (small statuettes of terracotta, wood or wax that represent ancestors and are also placed in recessed niches.[ed.note - Tripergola (or Tripergole) was a village at Lake Averno destroyed by the sudden eruption of a new volcano in 1538, producing what has been called Monte Nuovo (New Mountain) ever since. Yet note that the Neapolitan historian, Mazzella, mentions Christ blocking the mouth of hell. There is no mention of Purgatory. Mazzella is recounting a legend that was at least 300 years old when he wrote it down in 1600. There is an extant 13th century miniature (image, right) in the Vatican library, an illustration of "De Balneis Puteolanis" by Peter of Eboli showing Christ smashing the gates of hell at Lake Avernus.* Gauro (or Barbaro) is the mountain seen here; ruins of the ancient church are still there. That mountain is the one referred to in: "...He and the Holy Fathers took that great mountain and blocked the mouth of Hell...".
I have never read or heard anything that mentions Averno as the seat of Purgatory. There is, however, an old legend probably from the Middle Ages that Scippione Mazzella mentions [ed. note: a Neapolitan historian who wrote around 1600]. It concerns one of the slopes of Mt. Barbaro (or Gauro) called Mount of Christ or of the Saviour because of the presence there of a church dedicated to the Saviour: “Where you see Tripergola, and the bath of the Arco, and the bath of Raniero, and the old bath of Tripergola, there you find Monte di Christo, so-called, according to the people, because here is where our Saviour, who was resurrected from the dead and descended into Hell to free the souls of the Holy Fathers, who were in Limbo. In passing, He and the Holy Fathers took that great mountain and blocked the mouth of Hell [“Inferno”] and that is why, according to some, it is called Monte di Christo....” (from Sito, et antichità della città di Pozzuolo e del suo amenissimo distretto, 1591)
Thus Averno has always been seen as the entrance to the netherworld. Perhaps the source of the cult of the “anime purganti” is to be found in the ancient practice of the “refrigerium”.The refrigerium was not an ancient Roman refrigerator (!) BUT it has given us the word “refreshment”, a commemorative meal for the dead consumed in a graveyard. These meals were held on the day of burial and annually thereafter. Early Christians continued the refrigerium ritual, by taking food to gravesites. This connects the whole tradition of taking care of your ancestors, helping them “get settled in the afterlife”, as it were, to a worldwide and ancient tradition that even includes Buddhism. These little terracotta shrines are related to similar pre-Christian shrines in ancient Rome, as is the practice of saying prayers as you pass them in order to shorten the time that the souls of your dearly departed must spend before they may enter the presence of God.