Head to Naples to see the original Christmas village concept, and be amazed by centuries of artistic skill

Every travel documentary or article about Naples makes its obligatory stop at the street of the nativity scene makers, and so would I. But here’s the fresh observation I’ll bring to the topic: stop thinking of them as nativity scenes and imagine instead the sprawling holiday toy towns so beloved of Americans. Because the grand Neapolitan presepe is actually much closer in spirit to a Department 56 Dickens Christmas Village than it is to the humble crèche set many families nestle beneath their trees.

Legend says St. Francis created the first model of the infant Jesus in his manger, accompanied by parents, animals, shepherds and visiting kings, way back in 1223 to give people a tangible reminder of what Christmas was all about. Even then, serious folk were worried it was becoming too much of a secularised party, ignoring the real point of the holiday. The tradition of the crèche steamed along quite nicely across Europe for five hundred years until a strange brew of circumstances in Naples triggered an explosion down a new path.

The Bourbon Kings, Charles and then his son Ferdinand IV, were keen to put their newly-created kingdom of Naples on the map. It had been spun off and consolidated from Spanish territories with their junior branch of the Spanish royal family dropped in to run things. (Thanks to the vagaries of 18th century health and life expectancy, Charles would eventually swim back upstream and take over as king of Spain.) The family knew that great art attracted attention; Naples was already the zenith of “the grand tour” so beloved by European gentlemen seeking to complete their education. The royals were making a huge deal out of the excavations around Vesuvius, as I wrote about earlier.

The city’s hyperbolic church scene kept an army of talented craftsmen employed creating religious figures. The royal family loved the tradition of the Christmas crèche. Why not expand it, setting the nativity stable in a broader scene of 18th century street life, creating yet another grand artistic statement for the city. This one, however, would have easily portable elements so all those grand tourists could buy copies to take home, fuelling yet another revenue line for the city.

So serious were the Bourbons that they drafted in the best artists in the city for the royal Christmas village. Giuseppe Sanmartino and Francesco Celebrano stepped aside from their work on the Sansevero Chapel (a sightseeing blockbuster I’ve written about here) to fashion figurines out of wire, wood, terracotta and cloth for the royal display. Head to the Museo di Capodimonte to see it and you’ll understand that this isn’t just a bit of holiday decor. This is a masterpiece. This is why it makes perfect sense that the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York lays out an enormous Neapolitan presepe each Christmas.

Another magnificent example from this original age of presepe-making is in its own dedicated room off the Cloister of Santa Chiara. (Top photo.)

If you have an enormous amount of money, and significant space for a holiday display, you can still buy a traditional presepe with craftsmanship on par with the 18th century. The centre of this ongoing artistic community is a narrow street in the centre of the historic district called the Via San Gregorio Armeno, but you’ll pass tiny workshops where people are moulding clay body parts and working on other bits in many other streets nearby. The main show, however, is on that short lane running between Spaccanapoli … the main shopping thoroughfare that splits the historic district … and the towering, newly-cleaned bulk of San Paolo Maggiore.

Turn into the small yard just opposite where the tiny lane called the Vico Santa Luciella comes into the Via San Gregorio Armeno and you’ll see what I mean. Capuano is one of many workshops along this street that remain in family ownership, and the current brothers in charge can boast that they’ve supplied the presepe currently on display in the royal palace in Madrid. Here you’ll see city and countryside modelled at multiple scales with cork, wood, and plaster to form multi-level stage sets ready for their exquisite actors.

This is not, however, where the average tourists buy their souvenirs. That happens in the street outside. It’s full of small shops, many of them no more than 20 feet wide, all hawking their individual takes on the Christmas village. Over the past century the Italian tradition has evolved in a curious direction, with people adding modern characters to their home scenes. So the street is swarming with interpretations of Donald Trump, Elton John, Beyoncé, a host of European politicians and enough footballers to assemble your own fantasy team under the tree. Every shop has its own version of Maradona, from figures in straight athletic kit to an angel’s wings to … perplexingly … playing footfall while wearing a bishop’s mitre. That suggests a whole new kind of header.

Perhaps surprisingly, and sadly from the perspective of the shopping list I’d taken on this trip, what you won’t find here are many Catholic saints. I have no interest in updating the ancestral Ferrara nativity set with modern celebrity, but I thought it would be fun to add a group of my favourite saints on either side of the crib, as patrons once did in Medieval nativity scene paintings. My quartet were going to be: St. Anthony, the Ferrara family’s favourite; St. Francis, founder of the crèche tradition and friend to animals; Saint Madeline Sophie, benefactress of my school; and St. Agatha, patron saint of breast cancer. It was not to be. I found Francis. On the religious front, I could have come home with Padre Pio, Papal Saint John Paul II and a generic fat, jolly friar. And that’s about it. Clearly, the workshops are going for quick sales and religion is no longer raking in the cash.

There is a wide range of workmanship here, from exquisite hand-crafting to clumsy and cheap. While everyone insists their production is local, at the low-price end of the market there’s a lot of stuff that looks mass produced and wouldn’t surprise me if it was imported from cheaper manufacturing nations. If you’re going to bother buying in Naples, invest in the craftsmanship rather than the tourist tat. It’s there, in between the junk, you just have to look carefully. A traditional, high-quality figurine will cost you between €40 and €60 for the standard home crèche size of 10cm to 13 cm. The variance in price comes with the details of the clothing and accessories, how much you’re buying, and whether you’re paying cash. It’s standard practice in Italy to have a lower price if digital trails are not involved. While you won’t find a lot of flexibility on price when you’re just buying one thing, if you’re going to take home multiple items there’s often room to negotiate.

Look for three things to ensure that you’re getting hand-crafted, top-quality work.

One: Evidence of production in the shop
The absence of a workbench doesn’t automatically equate to “made in China”. Plenty of these shops are too small to make things on site; glimpses of workshops in surrounding streets attest to the fact that presepe are still locally made, then brought to the Via San Gregorio Armeno to sell. But if there’s a production area in the shop it does tell you they’re eager to show off the process and will often be happy to talk to you about it. If you can find someone working, they’re used to people watching and you’ll find their work fascinating. One obvious difference from my first trip here 20 years ago is the huge surge in the proficiency of English amongst the people who work along this street. The makers are happy when visitors take a real interest; it doesn’t take much to get them opening drawers, showing off collections of arms, legs, heads and fabric, and explaining how they assemble them into the finished figures.

Two: Differences in representation in the same character
That line of wise men who all look exactly the same scream of mass production. Place two Melchiors, or Josephs, or donkeys, side by side and take a look. If they have different facial expressions, clothing or coats, perhaps even slightly different stances, you can be more confident of hand craftsmanship. Also note that even amongst the better makers there’s a variety of quality. I stared hard at Marys from three different shops before I settled on the ones with the most lifelike, delicately-painted faces.

Three: Clothing
The most traditional figures have heads, arms and legs made of clay or wood that are then wired together and covered with real cloth for the clothing that’s then treated to become very stiff. Many other figures on the street are entirely clay: pumped into a mould, popped out, fired, then painted. The latter are still authentic, but they’re cheaper and receive less craftsmanship. If you want to capture the real beauty of presepe, make sure your characters come fully dressed.

These three criteria, and careful shopping over two visits to the street, finally found me getting down to business in Ferrigno. It appears to be a small shop like all the others but is a wonderland just as impressive as Capuano if you head upstairs. (Photo above.)

Here, my new friend Ciro took me through the manufacturing process, helped me find my perfect choices and confirmed the same opinion every other Neopolitan had expressed when shown photos of my family’s existing nativity scene: Jesus was being minded by a wolf, not a dog. I still maintain it’s just an oversized collie, but I added an appropriately scaled hound to my purchases of St. Francis, a new Mary, and a much younger Joseph than my current doddering old man. I will retire the battered originals to handmaiden and shepherd for Christmas ‘24. If I hadn’t been keeping myself under tight budgetary control, I would have dropped another €500 on two of Ferrigno’s exquisite flying angels. They make them here in a variety of colours, shapes and sizes … the bigger they are, the more expensive, obviously. They are exquisite, and it took a real act of willpower to come out of the shop without them.

Ferrara family originals below, my new purchases above

I was still looking for my missing saints. Ciro pointed out that they’d happily make them for me. That was even more tempting than the angelic hosts. But I am heading to Sicily later in the year and if there’s anywhere I’m likely to find a 13 cm figurine of St. Agatha holding her severed breasts on a platter, it will be on her home island. Sicilians love that kind of thing.

I was also amused to see on Ferrigno’s web site that you can commission a custom nativity scene figure of the person of your choice for prices starting from €450. You just have to send photos. Next time you have to find the perfect gift for someone who has everything, there you are. Just like rich Medieval patrons of yore, you can create them to drop in to the nativity scene, immortalised for posterity.

I bet Department 56 doesn’t offer that…