Celebrating the External Solemnity of the Holy Relics at Our Lady of Peace Church in Brooklyn, New York

A few photographs from Sunday’s Traditional Latin Mass celebrating the External Solemnity of the Holy Relics at Our Lady of Peace Church in Brooklyn, New York.

Exposed for veneration during and after Mass were first-class relics of St. Maria Goretti, St. Junípero Serra, St. Anthony of Padua, St. Francis of Assisi, St. Paschal Baylon, and St. Clare of Assisi, along with a glove belonging to St. Padre Pio.

These sacred treasures, part of the parish’s own collection, offer a tangible connection to the saints and a beautiful reminder of the Church’s enduring traditions. All ye holy saints, orate pro nobis.

In Search of the Donni di Fora with the Ghost of the Count of Sciancato

In Search of… with the Ghost of the Count of Sciancato explores mysteries where history and legend blur and conjecture begins—along with the strange, the macabre, and the uncanny. What follows suggests possible explanations—though not the only ones.

The Donni di Fora: Sicily’s Mysterious Ladies from the Outside

In the villages and countryside of Sicily, where ancient superstitions endure, whispers persist of mysterious women who wander between the world of men and the realm of the fae. They are called the donni di fora, the Ladies from the Outside.

Unlike the hideous witches of popular imagination, they are often described as beautiful, richly dressed women who travel unseen through the night. According to legend, they enter houses, attend splendid banquets, and meet in secret assemblies beyond the reach of ordinary mortals.

Oberon, Titania and Puck with Fairies Dancing by William Blake

Some believe these nocturnal visitors bring blessings, heal the sick, and bestow good fortune on those who welcome them. Others fear provoking their wrath, for the same mysterious ladies can inflict illness, misfortune, and suffering. Their favor is a gift, but their vengeance is not easily escaped.

Women who have claimed to accompany them tell extraordinary stories. While their bodies sleep, their spirits supposedly wander abroad, joining the supernatural company in feasts and revelries.

Among the nights associated with their gatherings is St. John’s Eve, when the boundary between the natural and supernatural worlds is believed to grow thin. On such nights, the donni di fora are said to gather in secret places.

Perhaps these mysterious ladies are remnants of a forgotten past, transformed by centuries of storytelling into creatures of both wonder and dread. Yet when darkness settles, and a sudden chill passes through the sultry summer air, one might wonder whether the Ladies from the Outside still wander among us, passing unseen, forever belonging to a world just beyond our own.

……………………………………

Sebastiano III, Conte di Sciancato, a minor prince of forgotten Lucania, was said to have loved his wife more than his soul. When his beloved bride, Donna Lucrezia di Nerafiora, died in a tragic accident, he could not accept the will of fate. In his grief, he turned to ancient books and desperate learning, searching for a way to restore her to the world of the living. The attempt cost him his life. The ruins of his torre lie hidden, and when the earth trembles, some whisper he still searches for her.

Photo of the Week: Piping Faun, Vatican Museum

Photo by New York Scugnizzo

The Lute in Renaissance Italy at St. Josaphat's Oratory in Bayside, New York

A Gift of Poetry and Friendship

Michael Martin's Mythologies of the Wild
God, resting on the tanned hide of
a deer hunted by my father

I wish to express my heartfelt gratitude to my dear friend, Cav. Charles Sant’Elia, who generously took the time to translate Michael Martin’s poem “The Huntsman,” from Mythologies of the Wild God (Angelico Press, 2024), into Neapolitan for me.

After reading my recent piece, Pilgrimage Postponed, in which I used an excerpt from the poem as an epigraph, Charles decided to offer this thoughtful gift. Knowing my passion for poetry and my disappointment at missing this year's trip to Napoli, he hoped the translation might lift my spirits.

It certainly did. Such gestures remind me that friendship, like poetry, can transcend distance and bring a little beauty into even our disappointments.

Grazie di cuore, caro amico!

~ Giovanni di Napoli

The Huntsman

By Michael Martin

Orion rises with the fall of the dark
For this is the season of the hunt
And when the moon is quite full
All the forest is washed white with her milk
And the crisp air kisses the skin
Delicate as a faerie's wing.
On such a night I venture out
On a quest of my imagining
In search of wonders or at the least for
The roar of the wind through the trees
The prayers of coyotes at their preying
A congregation at the sacrament of blood and bone.

Deep in the beech woods beyond the silent bog
I found a glade on the sleeping giant of
The moraine's back: a wide circle of bent grass
Of moss and of lichen, of oak leaves and of standing stones.
In the center stood a cross made from a young oak
Still green and rooted in the teeming earth
Whereupon hung a man transfixed and shimmering
His head that of an ancient and terrible stag
Antlers branching and twining, tines reaching through all Things
The dry leaves, the hedgerows, the gardens and the ponds
And at last to a place where elemental fires and stars sing
The greenness, the life and the dark, the light and the hearing
Of all that can be and ever shall be, forever. Amen.

‘O Cacciatore

Translated into Neapolitan by Cav. Charles Sant'Elia

Orione se sose quanno cade ‘o scuro,
Ca chest’è ‘a staggiona d’’a caccia
E quanno ‘a luna sta assaje chiena
Tutt’’o vuosco sta pittato c’’o latte sujo
E l’aria fresca vasa ‘a pella,
Dellicata comm’’a scella ‘e na fata.
A tale notte i’ ghiesco
Pe na cerca tutta d’’a mia mmaggenata
Truvanno a maraveglie o ammeno
‘O rùggito d’’o viento mmiez’a l’árvule
‘E prejarie d’’e lupe p’abbuscà ‘a preda
Na cungrega ‘o’ sacramiento ‘e sango e d’ossa.

Mpietto ‘o faìto nfì ‘o pantano zitto
Aggio truvato a na schiarata ncopp’’o gialante addurmuto
D’’e rocce: nu chirchio gruosso d’évera chiejata
‘E musco e lippo, ‘e fronn’’e cércola e prete all’erta,
Lloco mmiezo steva na croce fatta ‘e na cércola giòvene
Ancora verde e radecata int’’a terra a zeffunno
Addò steva n’ommo affatturato e lucenno
‘A capa soja era chella ‘e nu ciervo antico e terrìbbele
Corna spannénnose e ntrezzánnose, ‘e vrocche spontanno pe mmiez’a tuttecose
‘E fronne secche, ‘e sepale, ‘e giardine e ‘e padule
E po a finale a nu luoco addò fuoche elementare e stelle cántano
‘O verde, ‘a vita e ‘o scuro, ‘a luce e sentenno
Tutto chello ca pò éssere e ca maje sarrà, pe sempe, amen.

Remembering King Francesco I of the Two Sicilies

b. 14 August 1777 - d. 8 November 1830

In memory of King Francesco I of the Two Sicilies, we pray for the happy repose of his soul. Viva ‘o Rre!

Eternal rest grant unto His Majesty, O Lord and let perpetual light shine upon him. May his soul, and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen

Resumed Sixth Sunday After Epiphany at St. Michael's Church in Staten Island, New York

Call for Papers: International Conference on Medieval Studies

Feast of San Prosdocimo di Rieti

San Prosdocimo di Rieti,
ora pro nobis

November 7th is the Feast of St. Prosdocimus of Rieti, evangelizer and bishop. According to tradition, Prosdocimus was a disciple of St. Peter the Apostle who carried the Christian faith into central Italy during the first century A.D. He is credited with establishing the foundations of the Christian community of Rieti.

Little is known with certainty about his life, and the surviving accounts are drawn largely from traditions surrounding the earliest spread of Christianity in Italy. His name is also associated with Padua, where he is honored as the city’s first bishop. Evviva San Prosdocimo di Rieti!

In celebration of his feast, we offer this prayer:

Grant, we beseech Thee, almighty God, that the example of St. Prosdocimus of Rieti may effectually move us to reform our lives; that while we celebrate his feast, we may also imitate his actions. Look upon our weakness, almighty God, and since the burden of our own deeds weighs heavily upon us, may the glorious intercession of St. Prosdocimus protect us. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.

Catholic Movie Night at Atrium Stadium Cinemas in Staten Island, New York

Art Collecting on a Pauper’s Budget

Corrado Giaquinto's Magnanimity and Peace,
currently listed for auction at Sotheby’s

Every so often, I indulge in a little window shopping, browsing the websites of auction houses like Sotheby’s to see what works of art I might acquire if my bank account were considerably more accommodating. Alas, my taste in art has always exceeded my financial means.

Among the treasures that recently caught my eye are two paintings by the Molfettese Rococo master Corrado Giaquinto (1703–1766), Magnanimity and Peace, currently listed for auction at Sotheby’s. Both are beautiful examples of European allegorical painting I find so appealing. Bidding for both works closes on November 17, 2026.

While these masterpieces remain well beyond my reach, perhaps some of my more prosperous readers will find them worthy of consideration. As for me, I shall have to content myself with admiring them from afar. ~ Giovanni

New Book — Roman Copies, Collecting, and Culture in the Bay of Naples and Beyond: Papers in Honor of Eugene J. Dwyer

A new title that may be of interest to our readers. Available at Amazon.com

• Roman Copies, Collecting, and Culture in the Bay of Naples and Beyond: Papers in Honor of Eugene J. Dwyer by Sinclair W. Bell and Brad Hostetler

Publisher: Archaepress Archaeology
Pub. Date: October 22, 2026
Paperback: $49.00
Language: Bilingual English/Italian
Pages: 188

Read description

Click here to see more books

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Antonio Vivaldi's The Four Seasons Live at St. Bartholomew's Episcopal Church in New York City

Tickets

Robed in Splendor – Mourning at the Hofkapelle

Posthumous portrait of Emperor Matthias painted by Hans von
Aachen in 1625, housed in the Rijksmuseum of Amsterdam

Saturday, November 14, 2026 at 7.30 P.M.

The Parish Church of St. Andrew
311 North Raymond Avenue
Pasadena, CA 91103.

Free parking in the lot diagonally across from St. Andrew’s.

Sunday, November 15, 2026 at 4 P.M.
Orange County
Venue will be announced soon.

Musica Transalpina is proud to present the first known modern performance of an extraordinary Requiem Mass composed by Christoph Straus in October of 1621. Straus was chapel master to the notoriously incompetent Emperor Matthias, who showed a preference for the baroque musical styles emerging in Italy, and Christoph Straus was among the first to compose music for the Habsburg court in the elaborate new concertato style. When Emperor Matthias died in 1619, Straus was replaced by the much more fashionable Italian composers that the new emperor, Ferdinand II, brought with him from his home in Graz, whose court far outshone Vienna in splendor. Strauss was retained in a bureaucratic capacity in the Imperial household, so it is most likely––considering the month that this Requiem setting was composed––that it was intended for the All Souls’ Day observances held at the chapel royal on November 2, 1621.

This Requiem Mass is extraordinary for specifying distinctions between vocal and instrumental passages within each of the parts, which is remarkable considering the early date of its composition. It is composed in ten independent parts divided across two choirs, with voices alternating with instruments in order to create primitive obbligato passages, effectively doubling the scope of this work to twenty parts. Christoph Straus became chapel master at S. Stephen’s Cathedral in 1626, and died in 1631, the year that this setting was published by Christoph’s son, Matthias Straus.

For more information, visit: https://musicatransalpina.org/

Mistaken for My Celebrity Doppelgänger, Again

The other day, a lady on the street mistook me for Billy Joel. I told her I get that all the time, to which she replied, “Thank God, I didn’t want you to think I was flirting with you.” My initial amusement immediately gave way to crushing disappointment.

Having been mistaken for the Grammy Award-winning musician more times than I care to admit, I can recall two particularly memorable encounters.

The first occurred at a bar, where a tall blonde bought me a drink, convinced I was him. After I cleared up the misunderstanding, she stayed, and we enjoyed a few more drinks together.

Somehow, our conversation drifted from music and life to a rather peculiar revelation. She had a deep dent in her skull and, I kid you not, wanted me to put my finger in her divot. Needless to say, I retreated hastily.

The one time a man mistook me for Mr. Joel was on a subway platform. A Black fellow kept circling me, staring intently. Expecting the worst, I was getting ready to throw down.

After walking around me three times, he finally approached with a broad smile, extended his hand, and asked if I was Billy Joel.

Relieved, I shook his hand and jokingly replied, “No, we White guys all look alike.” He burst out laughing.

Personally, I always fancied myself a more rugged, better-looking version of Bruce Willis or Jason Statham, but who would have guessed the Piano Man was such a babe magnet?

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, November 4th, Feast of San Carlo Borromeo

Requiem Mass at St. Margaret's Church in the Bronx, New York

A Pilgrimage Postponed: Sant’Uberto and the Casina Vanvitelliana

Michael Martin's Mythologies of the Wild
God, resting on the tanned hide of
a deer hunted by my father

Orion rises with the fall of the dark
For this is the season of the hunt
And when the moon is quite full
All the forest is washed white with her milk
And the crisp air kisses the skin
Delicate as a faerie’s wing.
~ Michael Martin, “The Huntsman,” Mythologies of the Wild God

Knowing my devotion to Sant’Uberto di Liège and Sant’Eustachio, the patron saints of hunters, a friend had generously promised to take me to the magnificent Casina Vanvitelliana on November 3rd, the feast of Sant’Uberto. Built in 1782 by Carlo Vanvitelli at the behest of King Ferdinando IV di Borbone, this exquisite Rococo hunting lodge stands on a tiny islet in Lake Fusaro, near Bacoli, connected to the shore by a wooden bridge.

The visit was intended as a pilgrimage of sorts, an opportunity to honor the memory of my forefathers, who were avid hunters, and reflect upon a tradition that has long held both spiritual and ancestral significance for me. Alas, with my trip to Napoli canceled, this excursion, too, has been postponed.

Though I couldn't make the journey, I still devoted time to prayer and meditation, accompanied by Michael Martin’s Mythologies of the Wild God (Angelico Press, 2024), a collection of poetry I had originally packed for the trip. While the pilgrimage must wait, prayer, remembrance, and the obligations we owe our ancestors need not. Evviva Sant’Uberto!

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, November 3rd, Feast of Sant'Uberto di Liège

Name Day of the Grand Master

HRH, Prince Charles of Bourbon-Two Sicilies

We wish our Grand Master, His Royal Highness Prince Charles of Bourbon-Two Sicilies a blessed and happy Name Day. Buon onomastico, Altezza Reale!

Ant. Domine, salvum fac principem nostrum Carolum: et exaudi nos in die, qua invocaverimus te.

Oremus

Protende Domine famulo tuo Carolo supremo ordinis nostri magistro dexteram caelestis auxilii, ut tua protectione munitus, perpetuo sit justus, fortis, pius, providus ac indefessus hujus sacri ordinis rector, infidelium expugnator, justitiae cultor, meritorum, et demeritorum remunerator: Ecclesiae tuae sanctae et catholicae fidei defensor ad decus, et laudem tui nominis gloriosi, et post diuturnam felicitatem in terris, aeterna beatitudine, te largiente perfruatur in caelis. Per Dominum nostrum Jesum Christum Filium tuum, qui tecum vivit et regnat in unitate Spiritus Sancti, Deus, per omnia saecula saeculorum. Amen.

Requiem Mass at St. Catherine Laboure Church in Middletown, New Jersey

A Reflection on the Day of the Legitimate Monarchy

Reading Riccardo Pasqualin’s article, Prepariamoci per il Giorno della Monarchia Legittima (Let Us Prepare for the Day of the Legitimate Monarchy), on Ernesto il Disingannato introduced me to a Carlist observance previously unknown to me. I was intrigued to learn that November 4, the Feast of St. Charles Borromeo, is also a day when Carlists honor their legitimate dynasty.

Pasqualin draws a sharp contrast between the Carlist commemoration and the Italian Republic’s Day of National Unity and the Armed Forces. While the republic celebrates the military victory of 1918 and the ideal of national unity, Carlists reaffirm their fidelity to the legitimate monarchy. For Pasqualin, these observances represent two opposing worldviews, “one founded upon usurpation, the other upon fidelity.” His argument challenges the notion that political legitimacy can be established through popular approval, military victory, or the mere possession of power.

Especially compelling is his insistence that “the true conflict is not between one set of borders and another, nor does it concern the fetish of nations and nationalisms.” Rather, “the struggle is, and will remain, between legitimacy and usurpation.” It is a distinction too often lost on those who mistake traditionalism for nationalism.

The article finds its most powerful expression in the declaration, “We celebrate fidelity.” As Pasqualin reminds us, “legitimacy is neither acquired through a plebiscite nor lost through defeat.” These words affirm a principle that transcends the fortunes of any particular dynasty or political regime.

Having discovered this meaningful tradition, I shall join the Carlists in spirit this November 4, honoring the legitimate monarchy and remembering the struggle against usurpation.

Viva Cristo Re! Viva la Monarchia Legittima!

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, November 3rd, Feasts of Sant’Uberto di Liegi and St. Winfred

My Encounter With the Not-So-Abominable Snowman

On this Election Day, I thought I would share a curious encounter I had recently, which turned into an unexpected lesson in the hidden workings of our world.

While enjoying a romantic getaway up north with my lady friend, Livia, I went out to the shed to fetch some firewood for our hearth. As I rummaged through the woodpile, a large log came tumbling down and struck me squarely on the head.

Drifting in and out of consciousness, I vaguely remember being lifted off the ground and carried back to the cabin.

I cannot say how long I was unconscious, but when I awoke on the sofa, Livia was leaning over me, gently wiping my forehead with a cold, damp towel. Behind her stood a hulking brute, covered from head to toe in surprisingly well-groomed, long brown fur.

Noticing the astonishment on my face, Livia calmly explained, “This is Cecil. He’s a friend.”

I must be dreaming, I thought.

“He brought you inside,” she added.

In perfect English, the creature politely inquired whether I was feeling better. Still bewildered, I managed to thank him.

The fire was roaring in the hearth, suggesting I had been unconscious for some time. Apparently, Cecil had also been kind enough to bring in the firewood. Livia poured me a steaming cup of tisane, a restorative infusion of roots and herbs Cecil had gathered in the forest.

I sat upright, still a little woozy, though the pain had begun to subside. Naturally, I had a million questions.

“Where did you come from?” I asked.

“I’m an interdimensional being,” he replied casually. “My people have been visiting your world for thousands of years, but we’ve been hunted to near extinction here since the Last Glacial Maximum. Our pelts were highly prized, and our organs were harvested for medicinal remedies and virility potions. These days, we mostly remain in our own dimension, though occasionally we venture into your plane of existence on a lark, seeking amusement or adventure.”

He paused, sniffing the fragrant stew simmering over the fire.

“Besides, we rather enjoy Italian food.” Pressing his index finger to his cheek and twisting it back and forth, he added, "The aroma of Livia's coniglio alla cacciatora is what drew me to you."

“Why did you help me?” I asked.

“We’re not Reptilians,” he replied, as though that explained everything. “I saw someone in trouble and simply came to his aid.”

I nodded, immediately regretting the movement as the room began to spin.

“Reptilians?” I repeated.

“Yes, the humanoid shapeshifters who secretly govern human society,” he explained matter-of-factly. “Not to be confused with the Morlocks or the savage mole men, of course. The latter are descendants of the ancient Lemurians, survivors of the great cataclysm, only to be enslaved by the Sumerians. The Reptilians are your run-of-the-mill democratic elites, international financiers, and European Union bureaucrats.”

His pleasant expression suddenly darkened.

“They control your governments, banks, and militaries. Nearly every institution of consequence is under their influence, from finance and warfare to information.”

“But why?” I asked. “What could they possibly want?”

“They are descendants of the Nephilim, the monstrous offspring of the Egrḗgoroi, the Fallen Angels known as the Watchers. Driven by an ancient hatred of mankind, they have waged war against the Children of God ever since.”

I stared at him, uncertain whether the throbbing in my skull had anything to do with the surreal nature of what I was hearing. “Aren’t you concerned I’ll expose your existence?”

Cecil smiled, revealing an impressive set of teeth.

“Not particularly. Who would believe you?”

Before I could respond, the room began to dissolve into a haze. Cecil’s enormous silhouette blurred, the firelight flickered, and everything went black.

When I awoke, he was gone.

Livia was sitting beside me, holding a cold compress against my forehead.

I looked toward the hearth. The fire was still burning, and beside it sat a neatly stacked pile of fresh firewood.

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, November 2nd, Il Giorno dei Morti

A Change of Plans: The Siren City Will Have to Wait

The embossed leather dust jacket for my
new journal, adorned with the Three Graces

Well, it seems my return to Napoli was not meant to be, at least not this time. The trip was canceled at the last minute, but thankfully, nothing serious was amiss; it was merely an unexpected change of plans.

So my hopes of strolling down Via Toledo once again, paying homage to Virgil and invoking my Muse at his tomb, will have to wait. I had also looked forward to indulging in a little people-watching over coffee at the legendary Gran Caffè Gambrinus. I imagined myself sitting in that magnificent nineteenth-century Belle Époque café with my new journal, surrounded by the ghosts of the literary and artistic greats who had passed through its doors before me.

Disappointing, of course, but Napoli has waited for me before, and I suspect she will again. The siren’s call has not grown any fainter. Only my return has been postponed.

Vespers for the Dead at Good Shepherd Parish in Hopelawn, New Jersey

The Siren Calls: Returning to Parthenope

Me beneath the statue of the Holy Roman
Emperor Federico II di Svevia, sculpted
by Emanuele Caggiano, in a niche on
the western façade of the Palazzo
Reale di Napoli, in 2007

This time for work, I’m off to Napoli for just a few days. My writing and correspondence may slow down a bit while I’m away, but I hope to find some time between obligations to wander its ancient streets and revisit a few familiar places.

Still the capital in my heart, Napoli remains a city of extraordinary beauty and history. From its Greek foundations to the splendor of the Bourbon monarchy, its past is never far from view. Beneath the bustle of modern life, the old city still bears the unmistakable character of a place that has witnessed centuries of triumph and tragedy.

There is never enough time in Napoli, but I intend to make the most of whatever time I have.

Ce verimmo!

Photo of the Week: Satyr Playing the Flute, Vatican Museum

Photo by New York Scugnizzo