The Neapolitan language has invented a word that has no counterpart in any other dialect: this is because the figure of the "femminiello" itself knows no equal, neither in importance nor in charm. It is an almost mythological character in that of Naples, whose sacred character has been attested since antiquity and whose importance in the city's history is fundamental. Here is why.

There is a unique word in the Neapolitan dialect that is not attested in any other language: a particular word that describes a very important character for Naples, viscerally attached to its origin somewhere between pagan spirituality and folk wisdom. Commonly identified with a transsexual, in reality, the "femminiello" is much more than that. But how did this word originate? More importantly, why is this character so important in Naples? According to an ancient tradition, every 2nd of February, men "who live and feel like women" go on a pilgrimage to the shrine of Our Lady of Montevergine: a custom embraced by modern LGBTQIA+ associations. Ancient chronicles agree in attesting to the jute at Montevergine in connection with the phenomenon that today would be characterized as cross-dressing. The act, that is, of wearing clothes that are commonly associated with the opposite gender role to one's own. Abbot Gian Giacomo Giordano, for example, in his Chronicles of Montevergine (1642), tells of the fire that occurred in 1611, in the hospice attached to the sanctuary and reserved for the reception of pilgrims. "On the night in which the fire happened," writes the author, who considers what happened to be a divine chastisement, "while in the best possible way those many corpses were being buried, in washing the pricey garments they wore, to return them to their relatives, some bodies of dead men dressed as women were found, and some dead women dressed as men.”

That to Our Lady of Montevergine is one of the most heartfelt devotions in the region of Campania. On that occasion also falls the so-called “juta” of the femminielli: a collective reality peculiar to the Neapolitan milieu and surrounding areas. They define themselves as men "who live and feel like women". A reality as ancient and endangered as ever, which, according to current categories, can be likened to the universe of transgenderism. But why do the surviving femminielli and, with them, LGBTQIA+ people, go every 2nd of February to venerate the medieval icon of the enthroned Virgin, popularly called Mamma Schiavona because of the olive complexion of the face and hands with which she is depicted? The motivation is to be found in an oral narrative according to which in 1256 Our Lady of Montevergine miraculously freed two homosexual lovers who were tied to a tree between sheets of ice. The day of the prodigious intervention would have been precisely February 2. Instead, devoid of documentary and archaeological foundation, although fascinating, is the continuation of the cult of the goddess Cybele on Partenio in that of the Madonna of Montevergine. What remains intact is the attachment of Campania's femminielli and LGBTQIA+ people to Mamma Schiavona. After the homage to the Marian icon, everyone indiscriminately pours out onto the parvis in front of the shrine to participate in traditional dances to the sound of “tammorre” and castanets strung according to a cathartic and liberating collective ritual.

Naples Between Sacred and Profane: “La Figliata d'e Femminielli”

There is a deep connection between the city of Naples and pagan spirituality: an example is the ancient ritual of the "figliata d'e femminielli" practiced for centuries on the slopes of Vesuvius. These are ancient, ancestral practices linked to magical and alchemical knowledge now lost but assimilated into Neapolitan folklore precisely through the figure of the femminiello.

The link of Parthenopean popular culture with Greek popular culture is undeniable, and it is from this link that the almost "sacred" place of the femminiello within culture and society is born: for the ancient Greeks and Romans, the hermaphrodite was a sacred character, as the child of beauty and love and therefore, a symbol of the perfection of nature. There are records describing rituals in honor of the birth of "Rebis", a deity worshipped by initiates for its "dual" nature, which were precisely presided over by a hermaphrodite, the only creature that contained the two elements into which all of creation is divided. The strong symbolic charge of the hermaphrodite has in a sense been transmitted in that of the femminiello, precisely in the ritual of the “figliata”. This is a ritual that has been handed down for centuries, in which the femminiello reproduces the moment of childbirth, mimicking the movements and pains of labor. She does so with cries of lamentation, contortions of the body, as if she were really going through the experience. At the end of labor, a baby is made to appear from the femminiello's legs. In the past, a real baby lent by neighbors or relatives was used for the ritual, while in recent times it has been replaced by a baby doll. The child born from the figliata is always male, marking the duality of the femminiello, who is a man but also feels like a woman. The figliata de' femminielli has been told in Neapolitan and Italian culture for a long time. Ozpetek's film “Napoli Velata” begins precisely with a scene of a figliata, while the actor narrates it as an "eternal" story, since it stems from centuries-old traditions. The figliata is also well described in the book La pelle by Curzio Malaparte. This event occurs following a wedding between femminielli, a celebration performed in a closed church, which the bride and groom consummate on their wedding night. After exactly 9 months, the figliata takes place, which is followed by banquets and celebrations. Today the figliata is also known as "imitative magic", a term given to this rite by James Frazier in The Golden Bough, precisely because this tradition has attracted worldwide attention for centuries.

An Etymology Without Discrimination

The etymology of this word, which represents a unicum in the panorama of dialects, is actually nothing special: the expression "femminiéllo" derives from the Latin word "fémmina", which in turn encapsulates the meaning of "she who nurses". In fact, it is a construct that combines the Latin root "fa", which refers to the idea of nursing, and the participial suffix "mina", which suggests and reinforces the idea of generation, childbirth, and the care of offspring. It is a word that highlights, through its meaning, how important and central this figure was in the social fabric of the city, both in ancient times and in the more recent past. There is no discrimination, no ghettoization, in the etymological origin of this word: indeed, it was common practice to entrust the femminiello with the care of one's children, or to assign him a central role in folkloric events such as tombola (the Italian bingo) or masked parades through the city streets.

The Femminielli of the Resistance

"These were homosexual males disguised as women, present by the dozens in the neighborhood where they used to gather in a plot of land," recounted Antonio Amoretti, one of the last surviving Neapolitan partisans, who died in 2022. "When the insurrections broke out, the femminielli took to the streets. We found them next to each other, shooting at Nazi trucks and tanks, between Via Foria and Piazza Carlo III. They were brave." The femminielli were typical figures in Neapolitan society who overlapped with transgender, transsexual, homosexual, or intersexual realities. Those who fought in the four days lived inside two "bassi", small dwellings on the ground floor near the Gloria cinema. They would gather there to hold parties and ceremonies, such as the famous "figliata". "I don't know the names of the people who disguised themselves," Amoretti always recounted, "but we all saw them in front of the small dwellings when they put on their makeup. But the fascist regime had affected them too, and the dwellings in which they were forced were located defiladed from the main streets because that was how the hypocrisy of fascism wanted it." Accustomed to facing police and power, the femminielli did not back down in the face of Nazi occupation. They grabbed their rifles and together with the rest of the Neapolitans managed to liberate the city from Nazis and Fascists. Then they returned to their neighborhood and were forgotten by history. It was only in 2018, 75 years after those days of struggle, that a delegation from the LGBTQIA+ community was finally able to pay tribute to them by bringing red flowers and a plaque to the very San Giovanniello area, where the femminielli had fought for their and our freedom.

The Femminiello in Neapolitan Culture

The femminiello is not only a sacred Neapolitan figure but is also part of the culture. In fact, such an ancient tradition has kept certain events and celebrations alive for centuries. The femminielli organize several times a year the Tombola Vajassa. That is, a reinterpretation of the classic tombola, combining the tradition of the femminiello with superstition, tarot cards, and the typical Neapolitan games.

The Femminielli Today

The culture of the femminiello has withstood cultural and social changes for centuries. Today in Naples, the femminiello, understood as a sacred, well-bringing figure to whom families entrusted their children, is less present. Today's femminielli are mostly older men who maintain the tradition of a few decades ago. But the spirit and meaning that the femminiello has had for this city is still firmly rooted. Today's femminielli feel they are ambassadors of the freedom to be themselves, without limitations and restrictions, represented by this figure. Kids in Naples today are femminielli who bring their culture to the LGBTQIA+ community, to prides. They are mainly found in the city's Arcigay headquarters, and they carry on the tradition simply by being themselves. What they also want to pass on to other parts of Italy and the world is the awareness of the femminielli of the past, who for centuries made it possible for young people today to be accepted on the streets of the city. To be able to live and be as they want, celebrating their gender fluidity, without necessarily having to explain or label it. The reality of the femminielli has always been unique. It represents the great mental, social, and cultural openness of the Neapolitan people, who have been able to give not only freedom but a space to the femminielli.

E Femminiell

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