A Brief History of the Nativity Scene in Italy
Amid the glittering splendor that surrounds the modern Christmas—today a consumerist feast of Western culture, globally adopted yet rooted, it is worth recalling, in a Christian religious tradition—the presepe (Nativity scene) remains one of the few popular customs that still evokes the birth of Jesus. In churches and homes alike, the little figures are brought down from attics, freed from dusty boxes, and arranged according to a layout repeated each year. They offer an image of the event that Christmas recalls and makes present again: a distant happening in time—the birth of the Child.
12/12/20156 min read
Essay by Christiaan Santini for the exhibition “Kerstgroepen wereldwijd” (Nativity Scenes from Around the World), November 2009 – January 2010, Museum Timmerwerf, De Lier, The Netherlands.
The word presepe derives from Latin forms such as praesepe or praesepium (from prae = “before” and saepes = “enclosure,” meaning “a place before the enclosure”)—that is, a “crib” or “manger.” Thus, the manger where, according to tradition, Mary of Nazareth gave birth to her son. It is commonly told in Italy that the first to reenact this sacred event—this Epiphany (manifestation)—was St. Francis of Assisi, who in December 1223 at Greccio in Umbria staged a sacred representation of the Nativity, using local peasants as actors playing the protagonists of that holy night: Jesus, Mary, Joseph, the angels, and the shepherds. The episode was later depicted by Giotto in the Upper Basilica of Assisi.
From this almost theatrical experience, which immediately became famous, grew the custom of recreating the sacred moment of the birth each year, first with real people and later with statues and figurines. St. Francis’s intuition was both great and somewhat radical: to relive the event and show it to ordinary people as something natural—a birth—and to do so in the countryside, far from the splendor of churches, understandable and magical even to those unfamiliar with Scripture or Church tradition.
The history of the presepe, however, has even more ancient roots. In pagan religions, the natalis (from natalis = “pertaining to birth”), fixed on December 25, celebrated the birth of the Sun, later identified with the god Mithras. In preparation for that day, children would polish small terracotta statuettes representing their ancestors, placing them imaginatively within an enclosure. On Christmas Eve, the family gathered to invoke the protection of their ancestors, leaving them bowls of food and wine. The next morning, in place of the offerings, sweets and toys were found—brought, it was said, by the grandparents and great-grandparents. Though dead, the event confirmed that their souls continued to protect and watch over the family.
The similarities with modern Christmas traditions are striking. Christianity, so to speak, absorbed and reinterpreted these customs. Numerous representations of the Nativity appear in Christian art already a century after Christ’s death—in the catacombs and on sarcophagi. But in the 7th century, under Pope Theodore, the Nativity assumed a more concrete form. In Rome, in the church of Santa Maria Maggiore, an oratory entirely dedicated to the presepe was built. The oratory, known as Santa Maria ad Praesepe, traditionally housed an important and curious relic: the Holy Crib itself. In this very place, between 1290 and 1292, Arnolfo di Cambio sculpted the first fully three-dimensional statues depicting the Nativity (some of which are still preserved there).
The first complete Nativity scene known to have existed, recalling the representation of Greccio, was set up in Naples by the Poor Clares in the church of Santa Chiara. The custom continued to evolve until its official recognition in the 16th century when, thanks to the decrees of the Council of Trent—which encouraged sacred representations throughout the Catholic world—the presepe was acknowledged for its powerful capacity, still central today, to convey faith in the events of the Nativity in a simple, accessible way for the people.
The golden century of the presepe was undoubtedly the 18th century, particularly in Naples (though renowned examples also come from Puglia, Liguria, and Sicily). The great noble families competed with one another to create astonishing Nativity scenes in their palaces, inviting the public to admire them and to judge which were the most beautiful and elaborate. The figurines were true works of art, dressed in the finest fabrics and adorned with real jewelry. Even the Bourbon royal family spent vast sums commissioning Nativity scenes for their salons.
This flourishing “genre art” quickly evolved. The imagination of skilled artisans introduced mechanical and hydraulic devices, painted backdrops, and figures drawn from contemporary Neapolitan life. The Nativity scene became increasingly a pretext for depicting bustling city life, in which the holy figures mingled with merchants, soldiers, peasants, and all sorts of townsfolk. Every class of 18th-century Naples could see itself represented—in the markets, inns, and narrow streets—miniaturized and naturalistic, inspired by the landscapes of Campania. Though anachronistic, these details vividly capture the atmosphere of 18th-century Naples—its colors, flavors, and scents.
The Charterhouse of San Martino in Naples today houses the oldest and most complete collection of Neapolitan Nativity scenes in the world—an incredible journey through the city’s popular devotion and artistry. A colorful, picturesque, and beautiful Christmas, open all year round! As Michele Cuciniello, perhaps the greatest Neapolitan presepista, once said: “The Neapolitan Nativity is a page of the Gospel written in Neapolitan dialect.”
The tradition of recreating scenes of everyday life “updates” itself each year: the clergy, nobles, bourgeoisie, and commoners of past centuries are now joined by modern figures engaged in their daily occupations. One may find politicians, footballers, and television personalities alongside the canonical characters—Berlusconi beside the shepherds, Cannavaro (Naples’ own captain of Italy’s national team) raising the World Cup in a tavern, while the Magi approach the manger outside. Today’s soldiers and police stand beside their Roman predecessors, ensuring order. Every eccentricity is permitted, provided the sacred place of the birth is respected and the anachronism remains humorous, never irreverent.
The central thread, however, remains deeply religious, as Pope John XXIII summarized in 1962:
“May a ray of grace reach everywhere—the grace, the light of the Grotto of Bethlehem, the song of the Angels, the maternal care of Mary, the protection of Joseph; and may for every man arise, in purity and perfect harmony, the beginning, the renewal of true joy brought to earth by the Son of God.”
The sacred scene—the miracle of God made man—must remain essential and central. Curiosities and eccentric details may tell of their own time and its people, with their virtues and vices, but the focus must remain on the mystery of the Incarnation.
The sacred meaning of the presepe deserves deeper explanation. The representation of the Nativity scene is not merely evocative; it is rich in symbolic meaning, with a long and multifaceted tradition. The scene is based mainly on the Gospels of Luke and Matthew, the first to describe the Nativity. Mary and Joseph were in Bethlehem for a census decreed by the authorities. Luke recounts that Mary “laid her child in a manger, because there was no room for them at the inn.” He also tells of the shepherds’ annunciation and of the Magi from the East, guided by a star, who came to adore the newborn King.
Here the canonical Gospels stop; other details and figures derive from apocryphal texts and the writings of the Church Fathers, which enrich the scene with symbolic and allegorical meaning. The names of the three Magi—Gaspar, Melchior, and Balthazar—come from the Armenian Gospel of the Infancy. Their number, fixed at three by St. Leo the Great, was variously interpreted: as representing the three races of humanity (Semitic, Japhetic, and Hamitic), the three known continents (Asia, Africa, and Europe), or the three ages of man (youth, maturity, and old age). Their gifts reflect Christ’s dual nature: myrrh, used in embalming, represents his human nature and foretells his sacrificial death; incense, rising toward heaven, symbolizes his divinity; and gold is the gift reserved for kings.
Although the Gospels mention the manger, they do not specify its location. The Basilica of the Nativity in Bethlehem stands over the site traditionally identified as the grotto of Jesus’s birth; the apocryphal Gospels also refer to a cave. Likewise, the god Mithras—the sun—was said to have been born in a cave, and his birth was celebrated on December 25!
The ox and donkey are not mentioned in the Gospels either; they come from a prophecy of Isaiah, who rebuked the Jewish people for being deaf to God’s word and contrasted them with the meekness of the ox and the donkey. Origen later interpreted them as symbols of the Jewish and pagan peoples—for whom redemption was begun. The dual nature of Christ appears again in the contrast between angels, creatures of the heavenly world, and shepherds, symbols of humanity in need of salvation.
Even colors hold meaning: the Virgin’s blue mantle symbolizes heaven; white represents purity; red, human nature and the blood of sacrifice. Joseph, often depicted in shadow and wearing muted colors, represents humility—the attitude with which man, the sinner, must approach God.
These are only a few examples of the rich symbolic complexity of the Nativity scene, which, though it appears simple and natural—a birth, albeit divine—embodies profound theological meaning.
Over the centuries, even the minor characters of the modern presepe have acquired symbolic value. The inn represents vice and sin; the caricatured townspeople symbolize the moral failings of every social class. The viewer recognizes himself in them—torn between pleasure in being represented and shame for his own weaknesses. Among them, one might even find a drunken priest or a clergyman surrounded by the flames of purgatory—since even the clergy are not free from sin! (Curiously, high-ranking clergy and nobility were never represented in the Neapolitan Nativity, offered by the wealthy as a spectacle to the common people—there was room only for the vices of the poor!)
The devil, often near the crib, foreshadows Christ’s temptations in the desert. Soldiers prefigure both the Massacre of the Innocents and obedience to authority. Souls in purgatory appear, surrounded by flames, awaiting salvation. The interpretations are multiple and not mutually exclusive—each adds new layers of meaning.
The Nativity scene exhibited here represents a typical family collection: all the canonical figures are present, but alongside them stand popular figures, born of imagination rather than Scripture, capturing the vitality of folk tradition.
This open-air theater of puppets and caricatures is, in a sense, a “play within the play.” After all, the presepe itself is closely related to theater—it seeks to make a distant event immediate through realistic staging. The Nativity scene is not a sacred icon, but a joyful and scenic re-evocation of a sacred and joyful event: the birth of Christ.
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