New York Passport 1832 for Anselmo Berti
There is a specific, quiet thrill that happens when a notification lights up my screen and I realize someone has reached out to share a piece of the past. These messages are the highlights of my week because they remind me that history isn’t just in museums—it’s in our attics, our drawers, and our memories.
I recently had the privilege of helping an American gentleman trace the footsteps hidden within an old passport. It’s moments like these—where a simple inquiry turns into a staggering historical discovery—that remind me why these artifacts matter. The results of the research were, quite simply, hauntingly beautiful.
Born in 1783 in Menton, then part of the Principality of Monaco, Anselmo Berti would later describe himself simply as “born in Italy.” The claim reflected not geography but allegiance. His life would be devoted to carrying Italian music across the Atlantic and planting it firmly in American soil.
Raised in a small coastal community, Berti first performed in Menton’s local musical band. From those modest beginnings, he rose to become one of the earliest Italian classical singers and teachers active in New York. American music literature identifies him as the fifth Italian music teacher to work in North America, following Mrs. Mazzanti in 1774. In an era when Italian opera was still unfamiliar to many Americans, Berti helped shape the foundations of its reception in the United States.
By 1821 he was living in Washington, D.C., and in 1830 he moved to New York. He became a naturalized United States citizen in 1824. In New York he served as a classical tenor at the French Church of Saint Esprit, earning an annual salary of 150 dollars. His reputation grew steadily, not only as a performer but as a teacher of piano and classical music.
Berti’s home became a cultural crossroads. It served as a meeting place for Italian exiles in New York, including Antonio Meucci, Giuseppe Avezzana, Lorenzo Da Ponte, and Giuseppe Garibaldi. At the same time, it was a salon where members of New York’s affluent families were introduced to Italian opera and the art of bel canto. Through lessons, performances, and personal networks, he helped disseminate Italian musical traditions and cultural identity in a rapidly expanding republic.
In 1834 he married Mary Dessac of Baltimore, a teacher descended from English and French families. The marriage symbolized the blending of European heritage and American life that defined his career. Fully engaged in New York’s cultural circles, Berti earned both popularity and respect.
He died in 1852 under dramatic circumstances while at work at the Curtis Institute of Music, closing a life that had traced a path from a Mediterranean principality to the cultural heart of nineteenth-century America.
History
Finding a 1832 U.S. passport from New York City is an exceptional find for a historian or collector. To put its rarity into perspective: it is significantly rarer than a Civil War-era passport and exponentially rarer than any modern document.
In 1832, passports were not required for Americans to travel abroad, and the federal government issued fewer than 1,000 to 2,000 passports per year for the entire country.
According to the National Archives, there is a known gap in federal passport application records for the year 1832. While some original documents survive in private hands, the official government registers for that specific year are largely missing, making extant originals highly valuable for research.
Before 1856, the State Department did not have sole authority to issue passports. They could be issued by governors, mayors, or even notaries. A “New York” passport from 1832 might be a federal document issued through the collector of the port, or a local document issued by the Mayor of New York.
The Passport
The document is signed by NYC Mayor, Walter Bowne. It was issued on June 16th, 1816, only 3 days after NYC learned that a worldwide cholera epidemic had reached Albany and would soon be in NYC. It also has French stamps and signatures showing his journey.
At the time the passport was issued, Anselmo was forty nine years old. He stood five feet six inches tall, with light hair, blue eyes, and a fair complexion.
Passports in 1832 were not booklets; they were a large, single-sheet paper featuring ornate engravings and wax/paper seals. Because they were fragile and inconvenient to carry, few survived the rigors of 19th-century travel.
A fair offer is on the table, but he’s still deciding if he’s ready to let this piece of history find a new home. I always tell people: there’s no rush. When you’re dealing with a life recorded on paper, the heart has to be as ready as the hand to let it go.
Tom Topol | Passport History Expert & Author.
Featured in media incl. CNN, BBC, Newsweek. Awarded by the U.S. Department of State.
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