Hello friend,
Since today is Good Friday of the Catholic celebration of Easter, I thought I'd share an article I wrote about one of Sicily's most original celebrations, which is happening today in the province of Messina.
I stumbled upon this strange and colourful Easter festival when I moved to Sicily more than two decades ago. I have never seen anything quite like it. It's filled with chaos, outrageous costumes, and a mysterious character who has survived many centuries and defies description or logic.
I hope you get a chance to visit Sicily one day and make it to the highland town of San Fratello to witness all of the fascinating confusion and blending of cultures. Even if you don't make it to San Fratello, I encourage you to make it to Sicily in the Spring, where the sun is shining, the air is still fresh, and there are hundreds of colourful Easter celebrations to experience. It's my favourite time of the year. So please do come in the Spring.
San Fratello is perched high up in the rambling Sicilian highlands, nesting itself in the crown of the Nebrodi Mountains, which run along the Tyrrhenian coast towards Palermo. The road on the way to the town negotiates its way through the mountains like an elaborate obstacle course; every car climbing up navigates hairpin curves and steep ascents. Driving up to San Fratello, I am distracted by the endless mountains, with their irregular shapes. It's as if this part of the earth was once a giant cauldron, filled with melted pitch left to cool after being violently boiled.
The escarpments left behind after the creation of these mountains is outlined by an expansive cloak of forest that distends out like an insidious moss, covering wet stones. The greenery of the invading vegetation expands to the length and breadth of the island. The uneven growth around the countryside is interrupted by the scars of past landslides and roads that cut through the slopes.
The colours, too, attract my attention; it is early Spring, and the heavy greys of Winter are being surpassed by the bounties of the goddess Demeter, who has reigned over the island since time began. The countryside is filled with fresh new grasses, and blossoming pale pink flowers resurrect the dead almond trees.
Arriving near the town, I see paddocks divided by clumsy fences, which hold the robust San Fratello horse breed grazing on the springtime grass. These thoroughbreds are as noble as their Arabian origins. They are the essence of strength and elegance, with their fresh, velvety black coats and steadfast physiques. They fit precisely into the landscape, as wild and intense as any steep climb or precipice.
The history of the San Fratello breed dates back to Sicily in the eleventh century. They are descendants of the remnants of cavalry left behind during one of the many battles for Sicily's possession. The Arabs came up against the Norman invaders from France, towards the end of their period of domination over the island, from 827 to 1060 A.D. The struggle between the two powers lasted some twenty years, and one of the points of focus was here in the fertile Nebrodi Mountains.
I haven't come to San Fratello to see the horses, even though they are a fascinating sidetrack: I've come to witness an ancient Easter celebration, which is part spectacle and part mysterious ancient ritual.
Easter is one of the most important feasts in the Roman Catholic Church calendar, and in Europe, it's more widely celebrated than Christmas. It also comes together with the welcomed Spring, so the celebration at San Fratello is a mixture of religious ceremonies and pagan rites associated with the seasons.
There are endless Easter celebrations in Sicily, from processions re-enacting the last moments of Jesus' life with antique statues, which meander through small towns, to decorative Palm Sunday celebrations showing the journey of Jesus from triumphal acclamations, to betrayal and execution, death and resurrection.
These festivities are all pure theatre and spectacle, dating back to medieval times when the church sought to educate the ordinary people about the central figure and founder of the Roman Catholic religion to bring people into the church. Easter in Sicily is full of traditions, the most colourful of which happens here at San Fratello.
The Diavolata of Good Friday is a mixture of the diabolical, as its name suggests, and of many other complex strands of history, exhibited by the spectacle of the costumes and the music, which is filled with both pagan and Christian energy. Good Friday is when Jesus is crucified and is considered a day of mourning for the church. Still, at San Fratello, the characters of the Giudei, or the Jews, as they are known, turn the solemn funeral of Jesus into a macabre celebration, which mocks both Christ and those who condemned him to death.
Driving along the main street of San Fratello, I see a Giudeo for the first time. He's one of a series of men in the most confusing dress, which seems both comical and sinister at the same time. The Giudei slowly multiply, strolling in bright red jackets with yellow lapels, pantaloons, pseudo-military trimmings, and ridiculous helmets decorated with different shapes and designs. They are soldiers from an army that never existed; gathering together every year to disrupt the Easter celebrations, and the town, with their masked faces, ridiculous appearance, practical jokes and trumpeting.
Each Giudeo has a cornet slung over his back, the straps of the instrument hanging over the elaborately embroidered designs on the back of his jacket. They have all dressed alike, but with a subtle difference in the details of their costumes, which reflects a lack of discipline in their characters. The costumes dramatically increase the insanity and confusion in this unique celebration.
One Giudeo has a long white tuft of hair hanging down from his shoulder, another a long black donkey's tail pinned on his buttocks, hanging down suggestively between his legs. They are a strange mix of elegance and silliness, complete with military jackets and white gloves.
Some Giudei gather together and line up on either side of the main street. A reporter and two cameramen from the Rai Italian broadcaster are standing near me, ready to record, which means I've inadvertently chosen the best vantage point to observe the procession. The second group of Giudei comes around the corner, and this time I get a better look at them from the front as they walk past in pairs. The first has a large red and blue pom pom feather duster on top of his helmet, like a cruel imitation of the Italian Carabinieri's ceremonial headdress.
They all have a Klu Klux Klan sack mask over their faces, always in bright red, with circled black eyes, designed and cut out like a Zorro mask. The sbirrijan, or hood, is completed by a long, yellow, cartoon-like nose. Some have dark moustaches, like old black-and-white movie villains, ready to tie helpless damsels to railway tracks, while twigging at their whiskers and snickering at their dastardliness.
But the tongues stand out the most on the Giudei's masks; they are long, hanging down about ten centimetres, with a cross at the centre designed in silver studs. This symbolism, together with the name "Giudei," suggests that these masked men represent a synthesis of the Jewish leaders and the Roman military that condemned Jesus to death. Their long black tongue is a symbol of the hearsay and deception that occurred during the schizophrenic turn of public opinion, which according to the Bible story led to the condemnation of Jesus.
The crowd of masqueraded men makes up a strange collage of colours; bright red military costumes, jackets with lapels of gold fringes down the front, each with a different design, and a long strip of yellow on the back. These men are the symbols of a military hierarchy; not just simple soldiers, but decorated generals or officials, like high commanders in the Kiser's German army of the early twentieth century. But even this reference to a central European military tradition is a contradiction, undercut by the yellow strips on the men's backs, yellow being the colour associated with cowardice.
These costumes are striking. At first, they slap me across the face with their very absurdity, and I am utterly at a loss for words to describe or understand what they represent. Then I begin to separate in my mind the individual pieces that make up the costume, and I start to recognise the many different elements. But the most astonishing thing is how these came together like this. The truth is that no one exactly knows. This is the most intriguing thing about the Giudei and their costumes. The celebration is a source of wonder for those who study anthropology and ethnology.
On the streets are Giudei of all shapes and sizes, junior Giudei, fat and slim Giudei. There are no women Giudei in this celebration, and I don't know why they are excluded; perhaps this goes back to the fact that they depict the hierarchy of the Jewish community in Jesus' time, in which only men were the patriarchs.
Some of the Giudei are waving at the TV camera, while others casually gather along the street, waiting for the procession to begin. One of them, his mask resting slightly above the bridge of his nose, is smoking a cigarette and talking to an unmasked friend.
They all have absurd helmets on their heads, made up of standard caps with particular ornaments on top. One helmet has a flowerpot, complete with flowers, and others have horsehair tails, hooks, and feather dusters. Some are bejewelled with half moons and stars.
The Giudei wait for the procession to pass so they can celebrate with cruel joy the perceived defeat of Jesus in the history of the early Catholic Church. These colourfully dressed Giudei disturb the solemn, religious march with their loud trumpet playing; curiously, they never speak, their improvised music becomes their voice. The cortège is typical of the many others seen throughout Sicily on Good Friday when the crucified Christ is taken around the town on a funeral celebration to commemorate his death.
The masked men line up on either side of the road, and some climb on the top of a vast wall. They are waiting to begin their celebration. I watch them clearing out their instruments of saliva in anticipation of the arrival of the mourners, who can be heard from around the corner, droning out the rosary prayers and singing out the refrains of a traditional procession hymn in a disciplined drill.
The procession appears from around the corner; A large crucifix is mounted on a giant float and is carried by the modest pilgrims, who continue their sombre chants. Christ's head is bowed down, hands nailed to the cross.
The Giudei launch into their trumpeting with a distorted joy; first in a warbled drone and then with a frantic, deranged glee. Different groups form small clusters to disrupt the mournful procession with their music; a loud braying begins and echoes along the corridors created by these extraordinary dramatis personae.
Soon the solemnity of the procession is overpowered by the Giudei's racket, and they overtake not only the march but also the whole town, filling San Fratello with their loud trumpet playing and acrobatic stunts. Despite the distractions caused by the disguised men, the worshippers in the procession continue to recite their Good Friday prayers as they run the gauntlet.
After the pilgrims of Christ have passed, some of the Giudei join the tail end of the funeral march, continuing their wild celebration. Hundreds of masked men crowd the streets amongst spectators and participants to create a discord of noise and colour.
Groups of hooded men form semi-circles every few meters along the street, ecstatically trumpeting a victory theme, echoed and drowned out by other trumpeters nearby. Moments of silence don't last long as other groups start up further down the street, their impromptu music reverberating through the hollow streets of San Fratello and deeper still into the timeless Nebrodi Mountains.
Some more exuberant men perform acrobatics by hanging from lamp poles, others climbing high to hold themselves horizontally and swinging around to attract the most attention possible.
Looking at the backs of the Giudei's red coats more closely, I notice that many of their intricately embroidered designs have religious references. For example, in one model, Saint Francis, in his brown Franciscan robe, helping Jesus off the cross after the crucifixion; the two religious figures are mixed to create a unique spiritual collage, as the Saint lived many centuries after the time of Christ.
Other random designs include swans swimming on icy lakes, princesses with Barbie doll features, wearing tiaras, and peasant couples holding hands as they're about to start dancing; also, Christ on the cross, images of the crucified Christ, Snow White, an American eagle, the Virgin Mary, and various other religious icons, rich with details. I even saw a Donald Duck on one junior Giudeo. The designs range from the profoundly spiritual to the secular, a strange juxtaposition of incompatible elements. These embroidered beaded or sequined costumes are handmade and are a tradition in themselves. Often, the suits are handed down from father to son.
The Good Friday Diavolata at San Fratello is a mixture of pagan and Catholic elements, even though some commentators suggest the celebration has more in common with pagan festivals celebrating Spring than with any Catholic ceremony. Indeed, the festival has a grotesque carnival atmosphere, and the participants focus more on enjoyment and mischief-making than anything else.
During the Giudei's procession, I am introduced to a local academic and former mayor of San Fratello, Professor Salvatore Mangione. He offers me a drink at a small bar with other acquaintances. This allows me to get off the crowded street and out of the confusion. I stand at the bar for a while, sipping a glass of peach nectar and listening to Mangione's explanation of the Giudei.
The Professor is a proud Sicilian and talks with great ease in what seems like finely rehearsed paragraphs of a prepared speech. I wonder how many Diavolata he has been delivering his lecture to visitors. He leans with his elbow on the bar top, his golden orange Crodino bitters aperitif in his hand, and with an unaffected air of authority, he performs in an impromptu tone.
He notes how the Giudei are characters in a sacred drama with a solid cathartic element. They are like members of a secret confraternity entrusted to their roles in an age-old mystery play. Like the religious celebration, even their costumes are sacred, to be worn only during the Holy Week celebration.
The origins of the event aren't clear. Professor Mangione suggests that the festival might refer to a social rebellion in San Fratello's history which has long since been forgotten. The primary indication of this comes from the fact that, at one time, the peasants were allowed to dress as Giudei, and the upper class allowed three days of practical joking to pass without retribution.
The Festa has a history of violence, and Giudei's drunken revelry significantly disturbs the town. Numerous police reports have been filed against the masked revellers through the years, and there have been multiple attempts to ban the event. But despite efforts to halt the celebration, the Giudei continue to punctually re-appear after every prohibition, in even greater numbers than previously. And so the performance has continued to this day uninterrupted, even during the two World Wars.
As the Professor finishes his little lecture, a young child at the back of the bar lifts the hood of his little Giudeo costume and, puckering his lips, he trumpets loudly on his father's bugle horn. Taking this as a signal to end his presentation, Professor Mangione smiles, sips the rest of his drink, and confidently states that the Diavolata is a tradition that will never end as long as the children have such enthusiasm.
Walking out of the bar, I see that the side streets, the sidewalks and the street corners are overflowing with men in masquerade. They are playing an endless stream of tunes, which intermingle with what seems to be one long-sustained raspberry, creating an aural overload.
For a second I hear what I think is an emphatic triumphant march, but before I can listen to it properly, I grab onto a distorted waltz, and then I'm distracted by a strange polka; another group is distorting a selection of traditional songs, such as Torna a Sorrento and O Sole Mio.
It is such a strange, playful musical collage, the way the trumpeters pick up bits and pieces of popular tunes and distort them, creating as much colour and disarray as the celebration itself. In amongst the noise and exuberance, I get caught up in the moment's enthusiasm, before being suddenly struck by the realisation that nothing of this makes sense. I think it's not meant to have a particular meaning; it's pagan, ritualistic and hedonistic all at the same time.
The Giudei begin their celebration around eleven o'clock on Good Friday morning and continue their rampage around San Fratello, playing eclectic music, blocking traffic, and creating general confusion. As the feast continues, the men begin to mix their playing with alcohol and become ever rowdier, and then start to play practical jokes. Around midday, the Giudei begin to peter out at the end of the main street, to turn around and mingle at bars and side streets, or chat with friends and family in the main square, where most of the confusion is focused.
The birth of this grotesque Good Friday carnival, which corrupts the original religious celebration, can be found in local history. San Fratello's origins can be traced back to the time of the ancient Greek domination of Sicily when the town known as Apollonia was founded in three hundred and twelve A.D. Later, with the conquest of Sicily by the Norman Count Roger I, the city became the site of a Lombard colony. Count Roger's second wife, Queen Adelaide of Monteferrato, ruled over the hamlet in the twelfth century, creating a unique settlement for immigrants from Northern Italy, who kept strong ties to the French language and culture of the Catholic faith.
In the colony, a unique dialect based on French evolved, which is still spoken today. The dialect of San Fratello is entirely different from the traditional Sicilian dialect of North-Western Sicily. This language is a testament to the migration to Sicily, of colonists with origins in northern Italy, such as Piedmont, Lombardy, and Emilia Romagna, during the Norman domination. The dialect itself is a mix between the colloquial local dialect of the Monferrino and the dialect of Normandy. It is a strange hybrid that sounds elegantly French yet is tainted heavily with Sicily's harsh, local rugged dialect.
From the Norman occupation of Sicily (1061-1194 ) until the Sicilian Vespers uprising against the French in 1282, there was a gradual influx of colonists from Northern Italy into Sicily. In general, the towns where these Norman people settled are found in the provinces of Messina and Enna. Some Sicilian cities are strongly influenced by French culture, particularly in the local dialect, apart from San Fratello, include Novara di Sicilia, Fondachelli Fantina, Sperlinga, Nicosia, Aidone and Piazza Armerina.
A testament to the early Norman colony in and around San Fratello is the small temple on Monte Vecchio, dedicated to three early Catholic martyrs, Saints Alfio, Filadelfio, and Cirino. It is from these three Brother Saints, or Santi Fratelli, that the town gets its name.
Before the Norman domination, Sicily was under Arab rule for some two hundred and thirty- three years. Contrary to popular belief, Arab Sicily was an educated and tolerant society, especially concerning other religions. Even though Islam was the dominant religion, strong communities of Jewish and Catholic faith were allowed to exist side by side with the chief ruler's religious system of belief.
The Norman conquest of Sicily was based on, among other things, an intense desire to bring Catholicism to the island and remove other religions. With this historical context, the Giudei celebration at San Fratello takes on a sinister quality.
The Giudei (or Jews) of the Easter celebration of San Fratello can be seen to represent a grotesque parody of the ethnic minorities of the Arabs and Jews in Sicily during the Norman period. The Norman colonists of the town created a celebration to exorcise Sicily of non-Catholic minorities.
As the tradition of the Diavolata evolved into part of San Fratello's culture, the original significance and purpose it was slowly forgotten, and this celebration became viewed as a reflection of the nature of the local inhabitants. With the spread of Catholicism in Sicily, the irreverent mockery of the Giudei festival resulted in the widespread belief that the San Fratellani were 'tutti Turchi,' that is, they were "all Turks," the term 'Turk' in Sicilian referring to enemies of the Christian faith. So from its original function, the festivities at San Fratello have to a certain extent backfired, inadvertently linking the town to a non-Christian system of belief and creating one of the most undeniably unique festivals in the world.
(This article is dedicated in Memory of Prof. Salvatore Mangione 1951-2020)
Sorry but I defiantly have been long-winded today, because this was an extra special post, so I will stop here now.
I'll keep trying to write something worthwhile here every week, perhaps more often if I get in some karmic writing zone.
Thanks for subscribing, and be sure to send this to a friend or someone you think might enjoy it.
Speak again soon.
With love and light from RDB
P.S.: If you are enjoying this free newsletter, why not consider subscribing to my paid version too, which is currently dedicated to my travel memoir, Sicilian Descent. You will get a weekly serialised version of my book exclusively for you.
If you have already become a paid subscriber, then thanks a million! I'll get back to work and stop reminding you about updating your subscription.
No worries if you can't chip in or don't feel like doing so, but please consider forwarding this to a friend or two. It's a big help.