Monday, November 01, 2004
November 1
I went to the city cemetery today. I had never been before but finding it was easy. I just followed every other Neapolitan who was laden down with chrysanthemums to decorate the graves. It’s a real social event, and seems that people who only meet once a year do so at the graveside of a distant relative. I wanted to see the tomb of Toto, the great Neapolitan comic actor, but it was invisible under mounds of flowers. Obviously he had been very busy last night leaving sweets for all and sundry.
The cemetery itself is vast, having the feel of a model town. Temples, houses and even conservatories in miniature are laid out in streets, each bearing the name of the family they house. As you enter from the via Nuovo Poggioreale, where the tram No 1 terminates, you climb a steep cobbled street lined with mausolea. For those who don’t have a family tomb, each of the Neapolitan churches has a chapel, so presumably its possible to be buried with your fellow congregation as well as your immediate family. The florists were doing fantastic business. In the north of the country chrysanthemums are the predominant flower, here its gladioli, lilies and freesias. The custodians of these tombs are obviously very proud of the family mausoleums, and having tidied and put out the flowers, sit outside on chairs they keep here. It was only when I reached the main road at the top of the cemetery, that I realised how vast the place is, for across the road, it started again; a broad drive leading up to a chapel and another boulevard with the more modern tombs, some of which resemble small blocks of flats, with two or three levels and verandahs.
To cater for these thousands of graves a whole service industry has arisen on the fringes of the graveyard. From the builders to the stonemasons, via the cemetery police, everything you could require for a burial can be found. Of course there is a bar, and, should you be overcome by emotion and driven to rent your clothes, a shop where you can buy a bra.
Slightly apart from the rest is a smaller, older cemetery which houses the tombs of Toto and Enrico Caruso, the latter being somewhat more overstated than the former who is entombed with his family. Caruso has his own Greek temple, with mosaic inlay above the door, and plaques erected by Caruso appreciation societies, most of which seem to be in America.
It is well worth a visit, even more so on All saints Day, when I was one of over 800,000 Neapolitans who make the annual pilgrimage. It meant, of course, that traffic was ‘in tilt’ as the Italian press say. The authorities had virtually banned private vehicles from the cemetery approaches, leaving the narrow road free for buses and taxis to have long standoffs as to who should reverse to let the other pass. Virtually every bus in Naples has been redirected on to the routes to and from the cemetery, which is far sighted and sensible of the commune, but probably marginally annoying if you want to go anywhere other than the cemetery so say prayers for the defunti, as they are charmingly called.
I went to the city cemetery today. I had never been before but finding it was easy. I just followed every other Neapolitan who was laden down with chrysanthemums to decorate the graves. It’s a real social event, and seems that people who only meet once a year do so at the graveside of a distant relative. I wanted to see the tomb of Toto, the great Neapolitan comic actor, but it was invisible under mounds of flowers. Obviously he had been very busy last night leaving sweets for all and sundry.
The cemetery itself is vast, having the feel of a model town. Temples, houses and even conservatories in miniature are laid out in streets, each bearing the name of the family they house. As you enter from the via Nuovo Poggioreale, where the tram No 1 terminates, you climb a steep cobbled street lined with mausolea. For those who don’t have a family tomb, each of the Neapolitan churches has a chapel, so presumably its possible to be buried with your fellow congregation as well as your immediate family. The florists were doing fantastic business. In the north of the country chrysanthemums are the predominant flower, here its gladioli, lilies and freesias. The custodians of these tombs are obviously very proud of the family mausoleums, and having tidied and put out the flowers, sit outside on chairs they keep here. It was only when I reached the main road at the top of the cemetery, that I realised how vast the place is, for across the road, it started again; a broad drive leading up to a chapel and another boulevard with the more modern tombs, some of which resemble small blocks of flats, with two or three levels and verandahs.
To cater for these thousands of graves a whole service industry has arisen on the fringes of the graveyard. From the builders to the stonemasons, via the cemetery police, everything you could require for a burial can be found. Of course there is a bar, and, should you be overcome by emotion and driven to rent your clothes, a shop where you can buy a bra.
Slightly apart from the rest is a smaller, older cemetery which houses the tombs of Toto and Enrico Caruso, the latter being somewhat more overstated than the former who is entombed with his family. Caruso has his own Greek temple, with mosaic inlay above the door, and plaques erected by Caruso appreciation societies, most of which seem to be in America.
It is well worth a visit, even more so on All saints Day, when I was one of over 800,000 Neapolitans who make the annual pilgrimage. It meant, of course, that traffic was ‘in tilt’ as the Italian press say. The authorities had virtually banned private vehicles from the cemetery approaches, leaving the narrow road free for buses and taxis to have long standoffs as to who should reverse to let the other pass. Virtually every bus in Naples has been redirected on to the routes to and from the cemetery, which is far sighted and sensible of the commune, but probably marginally annoying if you want to go anywhere other than the cemetery so say prayers for the defunti, as they are charmingly called.
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