Column: Magic marriage in Italy

It’s June – the month for matrimonial bliss — and an appropriate time to recall the unusual circumstances of my marriage to Lady Phyllis, as she’s known to her many friends here on Shelter Island.

Like scores of other lovebirds over the years, Phyllis and I chose to tie the knot at City Hall. Except in our case, the city was Florence and the hall is more famously known as the Palazzo Vecchio, which had been the majestic home of the Medicis during the Renaissance when that powerful family reigned over Florence.

To go along with that opulent setting, the man who married us was an Italian marchese (or marquis, as the French call it) who also happened to be one of the world’s most renowned fashion designers, Emilio Pucci.

That grand event took place 27 years ago this spring, and to this day I still marvel at how it came to pass.

Our original plan had called for a simple wedding at a friend’s home in Connecticut, to be followed by a honeymoon in Italy and Greece. But in her research for our trip, Phyllis came across an article about American visitors who had married in Italy.

We found that appealing, and so, feeling adventurous, we went for it. Yet, as we soon discovered, getting to those nuptials proved to be an arduous process.

To meet all the bureaucratic requirements, a number of tedious steps had to be completed on both sides of the Atlantic. For example, since both Phyllis and I were divorced, our official divorce papers had to be translated into Italian and registered with the Italian Consulate in New York before we left the States.

Among other moves and decisions, we made arrangements to get married by the mayor, a fairly common practice at civil weddings in Italy. We were assured that having the mayor as our celebrant would not entail an extra fee, although it was understood that His Honor would “welcome a consideration” for his service.

On arriving in Florence, we had to scurry around the city to carry out the rest of our bureaucratic tasks, and by the time those chores were finished, everything seemed to be in order. Well, not quite.

The next morning – the day before our marriage – we went to the U.S. Consulate office to go over the final details with our main contact there, Signor Montelatici. And that’s when we were told that because of official business that required his presence, the mayor would not be able to conduct our wedding ceremony.

“But don’t worry,” Montelatici said with a broad smile, “because I have a special treat for you two. You’re going to be married by Emilio Pucci!”

For me, the name rang only a distant bell. I glanced at Phyllis for guidance. Looking startled, she asked, “You mean the fashion designer?”

“Yes, yes,” said Montelatici, “but he’s more than that. Signor Pucci comes from one of Florence’s most distinguished families. In fact, he’s a nobleman – a marchese.”

“And that gives him the authority to marry people?” I asked.

“Oh no,” he replied in a rather irked tone. “But he’s also an alderman, a member of our city council. And that’s what gives him the authority.”

When we returned to our hotel, it seemed as if everyone there had heard about our new celebrant. The manager and a few members of his staff congratulated us on our good fortune. One of them told us that we should feel honored because Signor Pucci rarely deigns to perform a marriage ceremony for strangers.

Clearly, we now recognized, this was a very big deal to the locals. But we still didn’t get it.

The next morning, as we were rushing around to be on time for our big moment at the Palazzo Vecchio, I committed a major faux pas. When I ran into the hotel manager in the lobby, I said I needed his advice. I said I understood that when two people are married by a mayor in Italy, it’s customary to offer him a consideration. So, I wondered, should I extend the same courtesy to Pucci?

“Consideration? I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking.”

But then suddenly he did understand. With a wide-eyed look of alarm that bordered on panic, he gasped: “You mean a tip? Oh no, Mr. Gates! You must not offer a tip to Signor Pucci. Please, no!”

A few minutes later, Phyllis and I arrived at the old Medici palace and were directed to La Sala Rossa, an ornate, vivid-red room with 30-foot ceilings and gilt-edged embellishments. As we sat there surrounded by that bright splendor, it was harder than ever to believe that this was part of City Hall.

A clerk and other functionaries were quietly going about their business when, right on time, the door opened and in walked Pucci, an elderly man of aristocratic mien — no surprise — but what I didn’t expect was the sartorial touch of elegance he brought to the occasion. Wrapped around his waist was an Italianate, ceremonial sash that signified his status as a marchese.

Pucci gave us a courtly bow, then conferred briefly with the clerk and a few moments later we were asked to stand for the ceremony. Weddings in Italy are almost always in the native tongue, but in deference to us, Pucci conducted ours in English.

When the ceremony was over, he motioned us to sit down again because he had a few words he wanted to say to us.

All I remember from Pucci’s brief but eloquent remarks was his open and his close. Here’s how he began: “I don’t know why you two lovely people chose to get married in Florence, but as a Florentine, I’m honored that you made that choice.”

Then, after extolling Italian-American relations and saying some other nice things, he ended with this flourish: “Yes, Florence is a place of wonder. Those of us who are native sons and daughters believe that it is a truly magical city, and I hope your experience here will help to guide you through a long and happy marriage.”

He then summoned us to the podium where he presented us with gifts.

One was a Pucci scarf for Phyllis, which she wears to this day and mine was a Pucci tie, which I still have in my closet even though I almost never wear ties anymore.

What can I say? We were transported. But when we finally came down from cloud nine, we were more puzzled than ever. Why did a man with his imposing credentials — an esteemed international reputation in his profession and a lofty title to boot — choose to grace our modest little marriage?

We didn’t know the answer to that at the time, and all these years later, we still don’t know it.

But I will say this: Phyllis and I remain profoundly grateful to Emilio Pucci for what he did to get our marriage off to a magical start.