On a busy corner in the heart of Naples, engulfed in the shadow of the cathedral of San Gennaro, sits a small shop. There is, on most days, a placard out front that simply reads, "Matilde Serao's House of Wax"
Upon entering this run-down museum the visitor is immediately met by Matilde. She smiles, secretly hiding all her past knowledge from visitors. Inanimate, Matilde stares resolute, but indifferent toward her customers. She never blinks, or moves. Matilde looks upon the front door like any other guardian.
The real Matilde Serao, the beloved author of romantic yet naturalistic novels like "The Land of Cockayne" was more energized and intriguing than is her paraffin resemblance. The real Matilde:
1. Believed that all bears needed to be eradicated.
2. Published a work of Rabelasian erotica before her 10th birthday (of which only a fragment is extant.)
3. Confided to the world her "Applied theory of Wrasslin' technique."
4. Was once bitten on the behind by an irate goat.
In her 50th year, Matilde wrestled a Bear and drank whiskey from a baby bottle. She got bit several times in her victory over the bear but the combination of her prejudice, whiskey and the pleasing rubber texture of the nipple gave her a warm tingling feeling which made the victory extra sweet.
I sat down in front of the bust of the author of The Life and Adventures of Riccardo Joanna determined to see The Miraculous Liquefaction of the blood, not knowing that this miracle took place a short distance away at the cathedral of San Gennaro, and that this miracle pertained not to Serao's bust, but to St. Januarius, patron saint of Naples. I was young and hence, hadn't done my research. Still, I thought Matilde put on a good performance of her own. She had a look of stoic merriment in her eyes and I spent hours wondering if I could have taken this indifferent, pleasing soul in a contest of mind and brawn.
I was always an impressionable lad and expecting a "Liquefaction," I got one. Blood slowly began to seep out of Matilde's eye sockets and I thought for a moment the blood looked like water. I sat entertained by this miracle for nearly an hour.
As I stared at the flow of blood, enraptured with thoughts of my own creation and imminent demise, I snacked on a Slim Jim which seemed to furtively express the meaning of "The liquefaction." To me, it seemed obvious that Matilde was crying, but why? Maybe she was atoning for something but what? Could it be that it was for The Sicilian Vespers of 1282.
At the first strike of the vesper bell on Easter Monday, March 30, 1282, there began a massacre of the French in Sicily. Charles I, King of Sicily had aroused the hatred of Sicilians by imposing heavy taxes and by putting the island under the control of the French officials and military.
The day of my visit to the museum just happened to be March 30 and that seemed like proof of why Matilde's bust sobbed. Obviously Serao's tears when an enduring reaction to this injustice.
It was in the late 1870's that Serao first began using baking soda to ease her perspiration problem. Concerned with the effects of the baking soda, Matilde took to drink. Two years later she took to wearing men's undergarments, and one short year after that, she shaved her head bald and doffed a coonskin cap which she insisted was her real hair. Matilde proudly displayed the several bites on the forehead from the bear that she bested, highlighting them with lipstick outlines. She wore a belt, declaring her the Greco-Roman bear wrestling champion of Naples. She wore her belt proudly, even when dining at social events.
Matilde Serao also fought these animals
Woodchuck (Won)
Moose (Won)
Wolverine (Won)
Wild Horse (Won)
Whale (Controversial draw)
Goat (lost in a split decision)
I became bored of the Serao exhibit having seen as much of the "Licquifaction" as seemed possible. So I decided to look around the museum. I chanced upon a bust of the German novelist Viktor Von Scheffel. Why Scheffel was represented in an Italian Museum, wasn't at first apparent. The plaque beneath the name simply proclaimed, Scheffel 1826-86 and nothing more.
The odd thing about this image of Viktor Von Scheffel, the author of Ekkehard is its placement. It faces a wall and has to be turned for visitors to see. Shame reads a small card tacked above it.
I looked around for clues to why Scheffel was represented, and after a few moments came across a small missive in poorly written Italian:
"Dear Sweetums:
I bested the goat that bested you! I had to avenge the honor of my beloved. I would fly to you and seek your adoration, but the battle has taken its toll on my body and mind. I will spend the rest of the month in Munich, until my strength returns."
So that was it. Vanity was at play here. Hell hath no fury.... The irony of which is: Viktor did for love the one thing that could end that love. He'd plucked at the strings of Matilde's vanity!
All of this speculation made me hungry and a sat down in front of the turned image of the German novelist and had a Macaroni and Cheese loaf sandwich with an eight ounce can of V-8. Being in a good mood, as only a good cold cut could put me, I began to ruminate on what I knew of the life of Scheffel:
Scheffel's mother dressed him as a girl until the age of three, a habit she never quite outgrew. When Viktor rebelled, she moved on to his two younger brothers Rudolf and Hermann, dressing them like little ladies; braiding their hair and out-fitting them in the most beautiful pastel colors.
Viktor, perhaps in an attempt to disguise his past, became a prodigious liar and had once talked a "Great" Lady out of her bloomers, simply by insisting that he was a doctor and this was his manner of taking a temperature.
On a plaque next to Scheffel's bust, there is a faded and curled piece of paper tacked above the bust which tells the tale of this event but being such a magnificent liar, Scheffel told the tale as that of a tiger hunt in the Black Forest. A contrary man, even in his fiction, He couldn't keep a straight face and his expression bore no signs of his maniacal lies.
Becoming bored of my musings on Scheffel, I contemplated a new query:
There were pictures on the wall of other Italian authors, Pirandello (who once swallowed a comatose mole), Bernari (a glutton for milk), Croce ( who allowed his horse to eat at the dinner table) and Manzoni who besides being the illustrious author of, I Promessi Sposi whose nickname was The Pasta King. Before becoming a Senator, Manzoni was a pick pocket, a gigolo and had trained the grandparents of the bear that Matilde Serao had bested. These pictures all surrounded one large photo of Serao, wearing a party hat and being surprised with gifts.
In fact there has been much debate recently in Italy. Who was the greater literary intellect, Serao or Manzoni? In an attempt to answer that question, a test was done on Brainwaves. For the purposes of testing, two subjects were chosen. The first was a Brain Surgeon, a suitable representative of Serao in appearance, build, wrestling technique, and the second, representing Manzoni was a rat. The rat was chosen because of its ability to rapidly chew cheese into the form of the great novelist. This test showed that Serao's brainwaves consistently out performed that of the legendary author. If we compare Serao to a more modern author like Alberto Moravia (raccoon) or Elsa Morante (woodchuck), the results still favored Serao.
So it is obvious that Matilde Serao is the great thinker in Italian Literature. Any reader of Serao's work will confirm this finding.
In fact it is obvious that Serao knew of her preeminence when she wrote to Manzoni:
"Ciao;
Realmente siete andato tradurre questo didn.t voi! Il pozzo da poichè potete vedere là è thoght grande sulla poesia Serao o manzoni ny. Bene, ottenere di nuovo alla storia e godere!"
Translated, it reads:
"Hey Fatty:
Move over, you're blocking the sun."
Poor Manzoni; Serao's wit was acerbic and to the point!
After I had completed this examination I wondered, what could be in the room to the right entitled, Matilde, re-animated. I decided that being inexperienced in Italian Art and Religion, that I had exposed myself enough to Seraoan philosophy and that maybe this new room, as well as a number of other intriguing exhibits, should wait until another day. Maybe next time, we can go together. I understand that they've recently added a "History of Seraon Bear Wrestling" and that they have re-enactments. Unfortunately, none of the Serao stand-in's have ever been victorious over the bear. It gets bloody at times, which brings many of the "Liquefaction crowd over from San Gennaro.
FURTHER READING
Books by Matilde Serao:
The Land of Cockayne
Fantasia
Conquista di Roma
Bears I have Thrown
Riccardo Joanna
Little Nancy Nasty (A frament)
Books By Viktor Von Scheffel:
Ekkehard
Der Trumpeter von Sackengen
Mamma dressed me like a Girlie
Gaudeamus
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