Today, 15 August, is Ferragosto in Italy: the height of summer, one of the great holidays of the Italian year, and a day when the whole country seems to pause for a while.

But what does Ferragosto actually mean?

The name goes back to the Roman world. The Emperor Augustus established the Feriae Augusti — the Festivals of Augustus — in 18 BC, creating a period of celebration and rest after the hard work of the agricultural season. Over the centuries, the tradition became intertwined with the Christian feast of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary, celebrated on 15 August.

And there is an interesting distinction in the words we use. Mary is assumed into heaven: according to Catholic belief, she is taken bodily into heaven by God. Christ, on the other hand, ascends into heaven — the Ascension. So Mary has an Assumption; Christ has an Ascension.

Ferragosto today is a mixture of all these traditions and of the very Italian desire simply to enjoy life. People head for the beaches and mountains, gather around barbecues and long lunches, attend religious processions, watch the Palio in Siena, go to concerts — and generally make the most of the summer.

And last night we had our own little celebration, in a place particularly appropriate for us: Celle dei Puccini, the small village in the hills where the Puccini family had its roots.

We have been to Celle many times, but there is always something special about being there. Giacomo Puccini himself was born in Lucca in 1858, in the family home that can still be visited today. But Celle remained important to him. His family came from there, he had relatives there, and he often returned.

Perhaps the most moving of those visits was his last.

It was shortly before he left for Brussels for treatment for the throat tumour from which he would die in 1924. The people of Celle gave him a tremendous welcome. Floral arches were erected along the streets, each celebrating one of his twelve operas. It must have been an extraordinary sight: the great composer returning to the village from which his family had come, honoured by the people who regarded him as one of their own.

There was something particularly poignant about being there last night, because this year marks the centenary of the first performance of Turandot, Puccini’s final opera.

Puccini died before he could complete it. Franco Alfano eventually finished the final section, but at the first performance at La Scala in Milan in 1926, Toscanini stopped at the point where Puccini’s own music ended. He lowered his baton and told the audience that the maestro had died at that point.

And so, more than a century later, we were sitting outside Puccini’s family home on another warm August evening, listening to music inspired by that extraordinary operatic tradition.

The concert was called “La Musica delle Stelle” — The Music of the Stars, and it was a wonderful programme of opera performed in the little piazza in front of the Puccini Museum. It was organised by I Lucchesi nel Mondo, with the support of the Comune di Pescaglia and other local organisations..

There were two sopranos, Maria Novella Malfatti and Claudia Belluomini; the tenor Carlo Eugenio Raffaelli; and the baritone Sergio Bologna. They were accompanied at the piano by Silvia Gasperini, a pianist and conductor who has worked in some of Italy’s major theatres.

The artistic direction was by Paolo Spadaccini, while Carlo Menconi, president of the Amici della Lirica di Carrara, conducted the evening as presenter.

The programme ranged across the great Italian operatic tradition: Puccini, Verdi, Rossini, Donizetti, Catalani and Giordano. So although Puccini was naturally at the centre of the evening, this was not simply a Puccini recital. It was a little tour through the world of Italian opera, from bel canto to verismo.

It was hot — very hot — but it was one of those beautiful Italian evenings when the heat somehow becomes part of the experience. The audience was excellent, the atmosphere was warm and friendly, and we were sitting close to the stage.

And then came the very Italian finale.

A glass of Prosecco.

A piece of rice cake.

And the realisation that the whole evening had cost us nothing except the petrol to get there.

This is one of the things I love about living here. You can go to a first-class concert, sit in a beautiful historic place, listen to some of the world’s finest operatic music, meet pleasant people, and at the end be given a glass of wine and a piece of cake — simply because someone has decided that this is how an evening should be.

And there was an extra reason for the little celebration. The organisers had specifically arranged the final toast so that everyone could celebrate together the eve of Ferragosto.

The concert was part of the Celle sotto le Stelle series, and there was something wonderfully appropriate about listening to Puccini’s music under the stars, in front of the very house where his family lived.

Puccini travelled far beyond Lucca, and his music eventually travelled around the whole world. But he never entirely lost his connection with the places from which he came.

So that was our little Ferragosto celebration.

Today there will be more. There will be the usual holiday atmosphere, families getting together, people escaping to the mountains or the sea, and perhaps a little too much food and drink.

But there is one thing that almost every Italian seems to say at this time of year:

“Dopo Ferragosto cambia il tempo.”

After Ferragosto, the weather changes.

I certainly hope they’re right.

This summer has been extraordinarily hot and dry, and I think most of us have had quite enough of caldo, caldo, caldo. We don’t want disasters; we don’t want those enormous torrential downpours that are sometimes called “rain bombs” here.

We just want a little proper rain.

So let us have rain — but not rain bombs.

Just enough to refresh the earth, cool the air, fill the streams a little, and remind us that summer cannot last for ever.

And perhaps that is rather appropriate for Ferragosto. It is the height of summer, but it is also the point at which we begin, almost imperceptibly, to think about summer passing.

The days will soon shorten. The heat will eventually break. Another season will come.

But for today, let’s not worry about that.

It’s Ferragosto.

Enjoy the music, enjoy the food, enjoy the company, enjoy the sunshine — and, wherever you are, have a very happy Buon Ferragosto!

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