There’s a tiny village in southern Italy that harbours a secret. Welcome to Agnone, deep in the region of Molise, surrounded by lush fields full of grazing sheep and archaeological ruins dating back to the pre-Roman era of an Italic tribe, the Samnites. But this wasn’t the secret.
Since the middle ages, this village has been making church bells for the Vatican and other Catholic parishes around the world. “It’s a place few Italians have ever heard of,” said Maria, an old lady I met while strolling along the winding alleys. “Most people don’t know we have played a key role in the history of the Holy See. Our village is special,” she said. “I remember when Pope John Paul II came to visit Agnone one day back in 1995. It was party time and we were honoured to have him,” Maria recalled. Her eyes were shining as she spoke.
Located in the old district of picturesque homes with red tile roofs, I found the official pontifical bell foundry. It is run by the Marinelli family, who have the privilege of creating these unique pieces of bronze with the papal emblem on each bell. The foundry has been owned by the Marinellis for over 700 years, which makes it the most ancient artisan workshop in Italy.
The old craftsmanship and art of creating church bells for the Vatican has been handed down across 27 generations. It struck me how one single family, in such a remote spot in wild Italy, could still have the exclusive job of making these holy bells.
According to Maria, who is 97, the Marinellis are the only “survivors” among various families of bell-makers who used to live in Agnone.
“The Marinellis are like a dynasty – a bell dynasty,” she said.
Special bells were made for this year’s Jubilee celebrations in the Catholic church. The foundry also makes bespoke, gigantic bells for commemorative events, and repairs old bells and church towers.
I tried finding a Marinelli family member to talk to that day but failed, so instead I wandered into the bell museum, which is part of the foundry.
The museum is huge. There were bells of all sizes, shapes and designs, but the one that caught my attention most was a rare model of a Gothic bell manufactured more than 1,000 years ago in Agnone. This would be a mecca for bell collectors!
After the museum tour I stopped at a little pastry shop near the main piazza to grab something sweet – and there I made another surprising discovery.
Agnone pastry chefs and housewives make a unique, weird kind of cake that in many ways sounds and looks ungodly.
It is called ostia ripiena (meaning “stuffed host” in Italian) and it is made with what look like two round, Catholic sacramental pieces of bread sandwiched together with a dense sticky mixture of honey, nuts and almonds.
Even though the hosts aren’t consecrated like those offered during Sunday mass, it is still a rather peculiar sweet treat for any pious Catholic.
It made a crunchy sound as I took a bite. The delicate taste of the pearl-white communion wafer was a sharp contrast to the rich, dark sugary filling. I felt a bit embarrassed as I ate – as if I were committing a sin.
“Oh, but there’s nothing immoral about ostia ripiena. It’s been our religious culinary trademark for centuries, just like the bell tradition,” said Maria, who makes them at home every weekend.
As I bought two more ostie ripiene to take home, I couldn’t help but ponder on how faith can have so many sides to it – even a gourmet one.
Silvia Marchetti is a freelance reporter living in Rome
