Triora, Anno Domini 1587
A History of Witchcraft in Western Liguria
(Part 1)
by Ippolito Edmondo Ferrario
To my daughter Agata
Introduction
Triora: a destiny written in history?
Primordial cults and ancient religions
Triora before Christianity
The three mouths of Cerberus
Do the dead communicate with us?
Triora, a land of Saints
The Trial
Was the famine orchestrated?
New theories from an analysis of the Libri Baptizatorum e Mortuorum
Enter the Inquisition
The Council of Elders
The Triora Parliament supports the trial
The Inquisitors leave Triora
Enter the special commissioner Giulio Scribani
Scribani’s investigations spread throughout the hinterland
The Genoese government starts having doubts about Scribani’s work
Genoa sends two new judges to work with Petrozzi
The case of Franchetta Borelli
If I grit my teeth they will say I am laughing …
Towards the end of the trial: Scribani excommunicated and rehabilitated
Conclusions and hypotheses
Counterfeit coinage and alchemical research
The Origins of Witchcraft. Ancient cults and peasant society
Witches in Liguria: the origins of the legend
Nocturnal covens; the places favoured by witches
The witches’ Sabbath: a real experience or a dream journey?
The benandanti
Amalia. Witch or benandante?
Other aspects of the witches’ Sabbath
The cult of Diana
The Wild Hunt, the furious army and the processions of the dead
Witchcraft as opposition to the dominant social class
Bibliography
Documents
“In Triora, an old fortified settlement in one of these areas of the Ligurian hinterland, the context has a note of tragedy.
It is the tragedy and elegy, both old and new, of the emigration that gradual drains these places in Liguria.
And while the lofty, imposing bulk of the village, rising sheer above the face of its steep crag, pronounces unforgettable words about its ancient love, the ruins of time and abandon blend with the recent ones produced by the ravages of war; altogether, their character is one of noble, inexcusable melancholy.
I was there as day drew to evening, as sirocco-driven summer haze increased the sense of these mountains’ remote distance and solitude.
And the courtesy of the locals, as courteous as only the austere, reserved Ligurians know how to be, also spoke to my heart.
High up on its rocky pinnacle, dominating the village and its deep, precipitous valleys, Triora’s cemetery has the feel of a citadel destined for a last-ditch defence.
And the stupendous inventiveness that placed it up there is also an inventiveness of love.”
Riccardo Bacchelli, Italia per terra e per mare, 1952
Introduction
Triora: a destiny written in history?
The first symposium to discuss the witchcraft trial held in Triora in 1587 dates back to October 1988. It was on the crest of the wave of the enormous interest this aroused that a series of follow-up meetings was organised, which spent the intervening period until 2004 delving into the archives and research studies dedicated to the old Genoese Podesteria, or governorship, and its mysterious history. The episode of the witches, known as bàgiue in the local dialect spoken in Triora, still leaves many unanswered questions about what first triggered the witch-hunt and the real reasons behind the long, drawn-out legal proceedings that led to the deaths of several women and the disappearance of others, spirited away to languish in prison in Genoa. A detailed in-depth analysis of those surviving documents that are currently accessible (although further documentation is believed to be stored away and still kept secret in the archives of the Convent of San Domenico in Taggia) has led to a precise reconstruction of the historical framework in which Triora existed at the time. The researchers have unearthed clear political and economic reasons for the actions taken by the judiciary, reasons that draw the spotlight away from the previous historical explanations that identified the causes of the trial as a period of serious famine combined with popular superstition. The latest theory, which enjoys widespread support, is that it was a case of economic speculation on the part of the local landowners that triggered the blind folly of the machinery of civil and religious justice, skilfully exploited by the political factions fighting for power in the village.
Anyone who has approached the question of this trial with an investigative spirit in recent years, however rigorously scientific the research method adopted, has discovered that this village has something of a natural vocation for things arcane that derives from its geographical location, perched high in the mountains of Liguria. Minnie Alzona, author of one of the first novels set in this Ligurian village at the time of the witch-hunt, focuses very effectively on this aspect.
“I must admit that Triora looked sinisterly beautiful to me. Almost exiled from civilisation, so deeply in the hinterland does it stand, clinging to the slope of the Frontè, gripped in the dramatically tight embrace of four fortresses, with its houses built one on top of the other, with its archways and its cavities, it looked like a town that was designed to fend off an attack that went beyond the risks known to time, almost as though it were besieged by the foreboding of evil that ended up wreaking havoc on it”
(M. Alzona, La strega, 1964).
Triora is located in the Argentina valley, some 800 metres above sea level and about thirty kilometres from the seaside town of San Remo. In the past, it enjoyed the advantage of being astride the Via del Sale, or Salt Road, then considered to be one of the main arteries of communication between the Ligurian coast and the inland region of Piedmont, the domain of the Dukes of Savoy who had always been eager to conquer the village. The tale is told by the local historian Father Francesco Ferraironi, author of numerous books and pamphlets and one of the first to discover the history of the 1587 trial and study it in detail.
“In old maps, the place is called Roca Salinorum, because it was here that the inhabitants of Taggia traded salt with Piedmontese merchants. Until 1579, this was the most comfortable route for penetrating along the Taggia mule trails, up into Piedmont from the Ligurian coastline. In that year, the Savoy rulers of Piedmont started transporting salt up from the county of Nice, which had passed into their possession, moving over the pass of the Col di Tenda. The old Loreto road remained an important route for smugglers, as there was a customs duty payable on every amount of salt, no matter how small: it was the most lucrative tax levied by the Savoy government in the eighteenth century, but also the one that met with the most determined opposition”
(F. Ferraironi, Cultura e Tradizioni in Alta Valle Argentina, 1991).
Not one but two fairs were held in Triora every year and the most important asset of its mainly agricultural economy was the terraced cultivation of wheat that had earned it the nickname of the Granary of the Republic. In Triora, those centuries-old terraces, which still can be found in many areas of the inland countryside, made a profound impact on the lay of the land, marking it in ways that have survived to the present day
“Here is evidence of the sort of human obstinacy that attacks nature, building terraces to unimaginable heights to cultivate olive trees and vines lower down, a paltry handful of wheat further up and meadows right at the top for summer haymaking.”
(Cassinelli, Corriere della Liguria, 12 February 1956).
From Triora it is a short distance to France via Briga, known as La Brigue nowadays, since it was ceded to France in 1947, and twinned with Triora. Historical evidence of this route is rather fragmentary.
The first traces of human settlements in the Argentina valley can be dated back to prehistorical times, during the Neolithic period.
In the Middle Ages, Triora was a practically impregnable fortified village with a military garrison. It was at this time that the local landowning nobility started to emerge, a handful of powerful families that influenced the history of the entire community: the Borelli, the Stella, the Capponi (a branch of the famous Florentine family), the Faraldi and others. In 1260, the Count of Ventimiglia ceded Triora to Genoa, which made it into its defensive bulwark in the far west of Liguria. It was the Republic of Genoa, known as the Superba, that erected no less than five fortresses and other defensive works to protect the village. Although Triora had the legal status of a governorship, or Podesteria, with autonomous statutes, its dependence on the Genoese government was sometimes suffocating for these Ligurian mountain-dwellers, whose indomitable spirit had made recourse to rebellion a natural choice, ever since the times of the Roman invasion.
The annals tell of a great rebellion in 1405, when the inhabitants of Triora had no qualms about destroying the Genoese fortresses built to control them. Later on, though, Genoa re-established her domain over Triora, which was then twice besieged by the Duke of Savoy, during wars against the Republic in 1625 and again in 1671. Triora withstood both sieges, demonstrating her inhabitants’ tenacity.
In 1797, under the Ligurian Republic set up by Napoleon, the village became the capital of the Eight Canton of the Jurisdiction of Olives.
More recently, in 1944, Triora and other villages in the Argentina valley suffered reprisals, as the Nazis used TNT to wipe out human lives and the heritage of a thousand years of history.
Primordial cults and ancient religions
The starting point for our investigation of the accusations of witchcraft and their origins lies in the mountainous area where Triora itself is situated, an area that straddles the border between Italy and France. The ideal watershed between Piedmont, France and Liguria is Mount Saccarello, also known as the roof of Liguria because it reaches up to 2,199 metres above sea level, together with the surrounding valleys of Tanaro, of Roya and of Argentina, as described at length by Ferraironi:
“The peaks of the Marta (2,138 m.), the Graj (2,013 m.), the Pietravecchia (2,038 m.) and the Toraggio (1,973 m.) stretch south-westwards from the Saccarelo massif. Looking to the west, you can pick out the French peaks of the Diavolo (2,686 m.), the Bego (2,873 m.), the Grand Chapelet (2,934 m.) and the Clapier (3,405 m.). Northwards lie the Bertrand (2,481 m.), the pass of Col di Tenda (1,908 m.) and the Rocca dell’Abisso (2,222 m.), then the gigantic wall of the Marguareis (2,755 m.), which stretches from the Pass of Saline (2,174 m.) to the Mongioie (2,630 m.) and the Pizzo d’Ormea (2,476 m.).”
(F. Ferraironi, Cultura e Tradizioni in Alta Valle Argentina, 1991).
The Leitmotif that runs through this entire research is an analysis of the place names in the area: in a sweeping natural scenario, we have the Valmasca, also known as the valley of the witches, which belongs to the Mt. Bego area. Legend has it that this uncontaminated valley was chosen by the witch Ravelli of Pavia as her new home when she was chased out of the nearby town of Tenda. She is said to have dwelt near the very headwaters of the Valmasca and her power is said to have extended as far as the Valle delle Meraviglie (or Valley of the Wonders), another place famous for the presence of demons, spectres and witches. Every year, the local peasants would make a gift to the sorceress of no less than four rams, which she sacrificed in the Lago Carbone (Lake of Charcoal), once known as the Devil’s Lake.
Mount Bego (which rises to 2,872 metres above sea level and is situated in the Mercantour National Park) is an extraordinary open-air museum with more than a hundred thousand ancient rock carvings that testify to religious practices dating back to the time between the Bronze Age and the Iron Age. Numerous legends still surround this peak, which was shaped by the glaciers of the Quaternary and is covered with snow for most of the year, and all share the common denominator of witches. There is still considerable uncertainty about the origins of this mountain’s name. Some trace it to the cult of Bekkos, a powerful, bloodthirsty god, comparable to the Nordic god Thor: the protector of the harvest, but also the dispenser of storms and calamities, he was venerated by early Ligurian tribes as the lord of thunder.
Quite apart from the origins of the mountain’s name, it is quite certain that it was home to a typically agricultural cult, as demonstrated by the enormous numbers of horned animals, mostly cattle, to be found among the carvings. The term masca (found in the name Valmasca) also fits into this picture of ancient religions. It is said to derive from the ancient Mediterranean word maska, whose meaning changes from one place to another: in the Ventimiglia area, it means “cheek”, but also “witch”, together with the derivative terms related to both.
“Maschera (calf’s head), mascà (slap), amascarà (to stain the face with charcoal), hence mascara (mask). Mascà (slap) and mascon (a hefty backhander) are also used in the Savona area, while màsca used to mean witch in the Bormida valley and the area of the Langhe, on the northern side of the Apennines behind Savona.”
(M. Siccardi, Viaggio nella notte di San Giovanni, 1993).
Later on, we shall get a clearer picture of how the meanings of maschera and calf’s head can be related to the tradition of the Carnival and the practice of wearing a mask to win the favours of the gods. The practice of staining the face with charcoal is also thought to derive from Carnival customs of this kind, which were common enough in the countryside and gradually evolved into the animal masks that were designed to be worn during the celebrations.
The Mount Bego area was also an important region of summer pasture for the shepherds who brought their flocks all the way up here from Triora, the Argentina valley and the Nervia valley. According to the thirteenth century Communal Statutes, the pastures were chosen and sorted by lot, in Italian sorteggio, a term that derives from the same root as the French sorcière, the woman who draws lots, or the witch or sorceress.
Triora before Christianity
According to local tradition, there was a primaeval place of worship in Triora on the spot now occupied by the Collegiate church, an originally Romanesque construction that has undergone drastic remodelling over the centuries. There is evidence of a deeply rooted stratification of customs and traditions that both preceded and survived beyond the arrival of Christianity in the fact that this Christian church was built over the remains of a pagan temple.
Nearby Mount Marta takes its name from Mars, the Roman god of war, while the hill known as Sanson is named after the Biblical hero Samson.
Ferraironi also ventured an explanation of the roots of the place names of the neighbouring valleys and their villages, such as Montalto Ligure, Carpasio, Bajardo, Camporosso, Dolceacqua, Perinaldo and Pigna.
“I shall just mention in passing some of the names linked to Provençal knights: Bada-lucco! Monta-alto! Caprasio! Legend has it that a knight called Baiardo arrived at a place called Campo-rosso (red field), whose redness could be attributed to poppies or to blood, where he found Dolce-acqua (sweet water), was scared off by Tria-ora (three mouths, or three rivers, or maybe the tumultuous rushing waters of the Argentina itself), went to Pe’ (de) Rinaldo (Rinaldo’s Foot) and later built a village shaped like a pinecone (Pigna).”
(F. Ferraironi, Cultura e Tradizioni in Alta Valle Argentina, 1991).
The story handed down from father to son in Triora tells that the old church of San Dalmazzo was built on the foundations of a pagan temple. As recently as 1927, in fact, it was still possible to see the sculpted bust of a guardian divinity (about 70 cm tall), the effigy of the female cult of the Mother Goddess, in a wall in the alleyway called Dietro la Colla. Ancient farmers knew that the fertility of the earth reflected the fertility of the woman’s body and, just as in human relations, there were precise rituals that had to be complied with to ensure that the soil would become pregnant and yield up its fruits. This early phase already offers a glimpse of the first attempts at the manipulation of nature, through religious services, rituals and dances, which were later to give rise to the practices that we shall be analysing in this anthropological research.
Back to history: as already mentioned, the strategic position of the Podesteria played a significant rôle in its trading and cultural relations It is this factor that has led to the development of one of the more enticing theories, which argues that heretics could have fled from persecution in France, taking refuge in Triora. A similar tradition applies to the nearby Principality of Seborga, which was chosen by the Cathars as the burial place for their Perfects when the French King Philip the Handsome set out to massacre them (in the fifteenth century, Seborga was known as Castrum Sepulcri, or Fort of the Graves, and in the seventeenth century Sepulcri Burgum, or Town of the Graves, which evolved into Sepulcarum and then Serporca or Castello dei Quattro Bastioni, or Castle of the Four Bastions). So the analogy between heretics and witches, two groups persecuted tirelessly by the Inquisition, may also apply to the case of Triora, where the Cathars might presumably have taken refuge and left their mark on the local social context.
The three mouths of Cerberus
The origins of the name of Triora can be traced to imagery whose roots go deep into the mysteries of the past.
Triora, from the Latin Tria Ora, means three mouths, which for some implies three heads, whose symbol is the three-headed dog that features on the village’s coat of arms and also in the fine inlay in the paving of the piazza in front of the Collegiate church.
Other authorities, including Father Francesco Ferraironi, trace the name to the three tributaries of the river Argentina: the Capriolo, the Gerbonte and the Grugnardo.
Meanwhile, a local legend tells the story of three rebel centurions, Tages, Pompeius and Cerius, who took refuge up here at the time of the Roman conquest and made their living by robbing and pillaging.
Nevertheless, there is something sinisterly attractive about the presence on the local coat of arms of Cerberus, the guard dog at the entrance to the underworld familiar from the classics. The scholar Stefano Moriggi recently stressed the link between classical society and the tradition of witchcraft attributed to Triora.
“When, in one of the versions of the mythological story, [Cerberus was] blinded by the sun and howling and foaming at the mouth as it struggled to break free of the chain used by Heracles to drag it up to the cave of Acone on the Black Sea, after his twelfth (and last) Labour, the abundant slaver secreted by the ferocious creature’s salivary glands impregnated the fields near the path where the two were passing, giving birth to a poisonous plant with dark green leaves and blue, odourless flowers. The plant was called aconite; were this name alone not already sufficiently evocative of that ingredient for ointments with paralysing (as well, apparently, as antipyretic) effects already commonly used by the witches of Thessaly, no more need be said than that it was also by no means unusual at the time for the name hecateis to be given to this member of the ranuncolaceae, or crowfoot family.”
(S. Moriggi, Le tre bocche di Cerbero, 2004).
The rôle played by Cerberus once again invites us to ask more questions: in mythology, the monstrous three-headed dog guarded the entrance to the underworld, stopping the shades from escaping and also stopping the living from entering. So what would this mythical creature’s task be in Triora? Is it possible that this was the location of one of the direct routes into the invisible dimension, into that world of the dead whose entrances were believed in the Western tradition to be through natural geographical features, such as caves and gorges?
“(…) Clinging to the Ligurian mountains, this village is one of the points on the planet where there is a break in the reassuring web woven by the culture of enlightenment, where elementary gloom emerges to show its face. There is a network of marked places on the face of the earth and they could actually be mapped; the intersections of sulphurous co-ordinates, the alephs it would be wiser not to mention”
(Introduction to Donne, diavoli e streghe nella biblioteca di Padre Angelico Aprosio a Ventimiglia, edited by Antonio Zencovich, 1998).
To be continued...
