La Sorgente Liqueur

In the heart of Naples, hidden among the folds of a past made of flavors and images, lies a little-known graphic enigma: the label of the anise liqueur Anice Reale La Sorgente. Printed on uncoated paper using flat-color lithographic techniques, it features a lively anthropomorphic mouse, wearing white gloves, short pants, large round ears, and striking a theatrical pose. At first glance, the association with the famous Mickey Mouse is immediate—but behind this image lies a far more complex story, made of mysteries, folklore, and visual appropriations.

In 2005, a rumor began circulating online: according to a legend spread by blogs and articles, Mickey Mouse wasn’t born in America, but in Naples. His alleged creator was a Neapolitan illustrator named Michele Sòrece, who emigrated to the United States in the early 1920s and supposedly created the design of a cheerful and charming mouse. Once in America, he reportedly met a young Walter Elias Disney who—enchanted by the character—helped develop and popularize it. As a gesture of gratitude, Sòrece is said to have given Disney a bottle of La Sorgente liqueur, whose label featured the very image of the mouse. Adding to the allure of the tale is a linguistic twist: “Michele Sòrece,” when translated into English, becomes “Mickey Mouse.”

A cleverly crafted legend—but entirely unfounded. The truth emerged thanks to the work of journalist and historian Angelo Forgione, who uncovered a far more plausible version: the label’s illustration was created by Quirino Cristiani, an Italian-Argentinian illustrator and animator—a pivotal yet long-overlooked figure in the history of animated cinema.

Cristiani was born in Santa Giuletta (Pavia) in 1896, but emigrated to Argentina with his family at a young age. At just 21, he wrote and directed El Apóstol (1917), considered the first animated feature film in history: more than 58,000 cut-out drawings brought to life in a sharp satire against Argentine President Hipólito Yrigoyen. The film was a success but was later destroyed in a fire. That first masterpiece was followed by other ambitious projects, including Peludópolis(1931), the first animated feature with synchronized sound. Unfortunately, all of Cristiani’s films were lost due to fires and the poor archival conditions of the time, with the exception of El Mono Relojero, preserved by its producer Constancio C. Vigil. Cristiani eventually left the world of animation but continued working as an illustrator and graphic artist.

The mouse depicted on the bottle is not a copy of Mickey Mouse but an original variation that fits into a much broader visual culture. In the 1920s and 1930s, the use of anthropomorphic animals in advertising, comics, and animation was a widespread convention. Characters like Oswald the Lucky Rabbit (1927)—a precursor to Mickey Mouse—Felix the Cat(1919), and Krazy Kat (1913) filled illustrated newspapers, short films, and international merchandise. Their stylized forms and expressive gestures also influenced commercial graphics, especially in countries where the concept of visual copyright was still emerging.

And it is precisely on this point that the La Sorgente label takes on symbolic value. In the 1930s, Fascist Italy was politically closed but culturally permeable. Copyright—especially in graphic and advertising contexts—was a fluid notion: the Italian copyright law would not be enacted until 1941, and it paid little attention to images used in commercial communication. In this context, it was common practice to appropriate familiar styles and characters to make products more recognizable and appealing, even without authorization. The mouse on the label should not be seen as plagiarism, but rather as a typical act of visual re-elaboration within a shared culture that remained receptive to foreign influences despite strong nationalism.

Despite the uncertainty, the little mouse on the liqueur label managed to survive, thanks in part to legal disputes over copyright. In the 1930s, the publishing house Mondadori, which held the rights to Topolino (Mickey Mouse) in Italy, demanded royalties from the La Sorgente company, claiming their mouse infringed on Disney’s character. However, the Neapolitan company successfully proved that their anthropomorphic mouse actually predated the creation of Mickey Mouse, supporting their defense with documentation and testimonies showing the image’s existence since the early 1930s. This legal recognition helped preserve the brand and justified its nearly unchanged presence on the market for nearly a century.

The strength of the label lies precisely in its ambiguity: familiar but not identical, evocative but not imitative. A creature of popular visual culture, designed to be recognizable without being literal. And perhaps this is why it has stood the test of time: the image, though modified in some minor details, has remained almost unchanged for nearly a century. Today, the mouse still appears on bottles sold in Neapolitan wine shops and is collected as a cult object by vintage graphic design enthusiasts.

The myth of the “Neapolitan Mickey Mouse” is, therefore, a falsehood—but a useful one: it helped bring to light not only the label but also the story of a pioneering artist like Cristiani. And it showed how even a small illustration can hold complex, layered, and transnational histories.