Solemn Mass for San Maurizio in Little Italy, New York

The missal for the Mass

Annue, quásumus, omnipotens Deus: ut sanctórum Martyrum tuórum Maurítii et Sociorum ejus nos latíficet festíva sollémnitas; ut, quorum suffrágiis nítimur, eórum natalitis gloriémur. Per Dóminum nostrum Jesum Christum, Filium tuum: qui tecum vivit et regnat in unitáte Spíritus Sancti Deus, per ómnia sácula sæculórum. Amen.

Tuesday evening, leaving behind the din and tumult of the ongoing Feast of San Gennaro on Mulberry Street, I entered the Shrine Church of the Most Precious Blood for the Feast of St. Maurice and the Martyrs of the Theban Legion.

Arriving nearly an hour early, I found the contrast could hardly have been greater. The church was silent and peaceful. I prayed the Rosary and said my prayers while the servers quietly prepared the sanctuary and the choir warmed up in the loft.

Having been told it was a private Mass, I expected little more than a priest offering Mass at one of the side altars. Instead, I found myself at a Solemn High Traditional Latin Mass, accompanied by sublime sacred music and a remarkable turnout. The congregation's responses and hymns thundered through the nave. It was deeply uplifting and spiritually moving.

Sangria at the post-Mass gathering

What struck me almost as much as the Mass itself was how young the congregation was. I was among the few older people present. Looking around the church, one might easily have mistaken it for a young adult Mass.

Afterward, everyone was invited to a nearby restaurant for food, drinks, and conversation. There, among old acquaintances and new friends, the solemnity of the evening gave way naturally to conviviality.

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, September 23rd, Feast of Padre Pio

Be merciful, almighty God, we beseech You, that the solemn feast of Your martyrs, Maurice and his Companions, may gladden us, so that we who rely on their patronage may joyfully celebrate the anniversary of their martyrdom. Who liveth and reigneth with thee, in the unity of the Holy Ghost, God, world without end. Amen.

Simple Pleasures — A Little Piece of Naples

Santa Patrizia, ora pro nobis

A friend recently returned from a trip to Naples and was kind enough to bring me back a couple of prayer cards for Santa Patrizia from the Chiesa di San Gregorio Armeno.

Small devotional objects like these have always meant far more to me than an ordinary souvenir. Coming directly from the church where Santa Patrizia is especially venerated, they carry with them something of Naples and centuries of popular devotion.

I am very grateful to my friend for thinking of me during his travels and for bringing home this little piece of Napoli. The cards have already found a special place among my collection of religious keepsakes.

Evviva Santa Patrizia!

Michaelmas at the Oratory of Most Sacred Heart of Jesus in Georgetown, Connecticut

Literary Caprices: Vignettes and Other Indulgences IV

See Part I, Part II, Part III 

Rejected from a Date I Never Asked For

While I appreciate the good intentions of family and friends who try to fix me up on dates, I resent the notion that I can’t meet women on my own. Not to sound cocky, but I meet women all the time. We just rarely connect on any meaningful level.

I’ve agreed to blind dates in the past, trusting the matchmakers' judgment, only to discover that absolutely no thought had gone into finding me a suitable partner. The only thing my dates and I had in common was being single. Disappointed one too many times, I naturally began declining offers to be fixed up.

So, the other night, when I was invited to dinner at a friend’s house and discovered that the only other guest was a woman I had never met, the situation was obvious. Dinner was a ruse to get me to meet their friend.

Feigning ignorance, I genuinely enjoyed the evening. After she said goodnight and hopped into her Uber, I don’t think the car had even pulled away before my friend’s wife began grilling me about what I thought.

Trying to be polite, I said a lot of nice things without committing to anything.

Needless to say, I was genuinely surprised when the dinner guest called me a day later out of the blue. She wasn’t calling to arrange a date, but to “let me down gently.” Apparently, she hadn’t wanted to be fixed up either. 

That part I understood. What I didn’t understand was why she felt the need to call and turn me down for a date I had never asked her on.

Wanton Women and a Naïve Fool

Walking to the subway the other day, my friend glanced at a group of young Asian women we were passing and said, “Look at all these hookers.”

“They’re not hookers,” I replied. “That’s just how young ladies dress nowadays.” In my defense, I see a lot of scantily clad women around the city.

Right on cue, one of them skipped over to me. Looking as though she had stepped straight out of a hentai magazine, she wore a tiny miniskirt, garters, go-go boots, garish makeup, and ribbons in her hair. Without saying a word, she handed me a card advertising a 24-hour “massage” parlor.

I still don’t know what hurt me more: my friend laughing at my naivety or the realization that this girl had taken one look at me and decided I was the sort of guy who might frequent such an establishment.

A Cramp in No Man’s Land

I’ve been having a lot of strange dreams lately, but last night’s may have been the strangest.

I was fighting in a war sometime in the future, though the battlefield looked like something out of the First World War. It was a strange, retrofuturistic world of trenches, mud, smoke, and unfamiliar machinery, where whatever advances mankind had made had somehow brought us back to killing one another in the old ways.

At some point, I climbed out of my trench and crawled across no man’s land toward the enemy line. Like the Arditi of old, I crossed the desolate battlefield with a dagger clenched between my teeth and a trench mace in hand.

Somehow I reached the enemy trench unnoticed. Dropping into it, I began my assault with knife and mace.

At first, the enemy seemed completely oblivious to my presence. Then, as I moved down the trench, they simply froze. One after another, they stood staring at me while I charged forward, swinging the mace and slashing with the knife. There was something strangely mechanical about it all. No one fought back. I simply kept advancing.

Then, suddenly, I stopped. A terrible cramp seized my right calf. In the middle of my charge, surrounded by the enemy, I found myself completely unable to move. The soldiers who moments before had been frozen in terror now stared at me in bewilderment as I stood there helpless, my leg locked in agony. And then I woke up. The trenches, the smoke, and the enemy had all vanished. But the cramp in my right calf was very real.

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, September 22nd, Feast of St. Maurice and Companions 

Feast of St. Michael at St. John Vianney Church in Colonia, New Jersey

Happy Autumn!

Photo by New York Scugnizzo

The Fall Equinox marks the transition of summer into winter. To celebrate the occasion and the season of Autumn, we would like to share a poem by Vittorio Clemente from Dialect Poetry of Southern Italy: Texts and Criticism (A Trilingual Anthology) edited by Luigi Bonaffini, Legas, 1997, p.37.

A tiempe de sorve

Nu gricele alla vite...Me retrove

ancora na cullane

de sorve mmane; e quile piuoppe ancore

remire abballe l'acque chela fronna

gialle che treme e lùcceche, ammussite

mpizze a nu rame nire; e revà ammonte

la voce, pe lu colle: "Quande è tiempe

de sorve, amore amore, già l'estate

ha pigliate la vie d'attraviezze..."

E pure mandemane, chela fronne

se raggruglie a nu fiate

de la muntagne. E dellà da nu vele

de nebbie, nfunne funne alla campagne,

chi ancora chiame? Chi redà na voce?

When Sorbs are in Season

A chill comes over me... a necklace

of sorbs, even now, in my hands;

even now the poplar

sees in the river

the shimmer of a yellow leaf

dangling from the tip

of a blackened bough... and a voice

surges through the hills: "When sorbs

my love, are in season, summer is already in flight..."

Later this morning the leaf

will shrivel, at a whish

of mountain wind. From across a veil

of fog, from far away across the fields,

who'll call out, even now? Whose voice will ring?

(Translated by Anthony Molino)

Feast of St. Michael at St. Michael's Church in Staten Island, New York

Remembering Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor

Statue of Carlo V sculpted by Vincenzo Gemito on the western facade
of the Royal Palace in the Largo del Palazzo Reale in Naples

In memory of Holy Roman Emperor Charles V (24 February 1500 – 21 September 1558), Carlo IV of Naples and Carlo V of Sicily, we pray for the happy repose of his soul.

Eternal rest grant unto him, 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

A Century of Faith: The 100th Feast of San Gennaro

A newly donated relic of San Gennaro, containing a fragment of the saint’s skull, presented by the City of Naples in honor of the 100th Anniversary of the Feast of San Gennaro in Little Italy, New York City

For a century, the beloved Feast of San Gennaro has brought faith, tradition, and devotion to the streets of old Little Italy in New York City.

This year’s centennial celebration was made especially memorable by a newly donated relic of San Gennaro from the City of Naples, a beautifully restored painting of the saint originally from Naples, and a newly designed prayer card commemorating the 100th anniversary.

The procession through the throng gathered on Mulberry Street offered a stirring reminder of the enduring ties between Naples and New York’s Neapolitan American community.

Viva San Gennaro!

The processional bust of San Gennaro outside the Shrine Church of Most Precious Blood, with the relic and Constantinian Cross bestowed by H.R.H. Prince Carlo di Borbone, Duke of Castro

H.E. Gr. Uff. John Viola with the antique painting of San Gennaro from Naples that he rescued and had restored

Msgr. Jamie Gigantiello blessing the restored painting during Mass

The Mass was concelebrated by Msgr. Donald Sakano,
Msgr. Jamie Gigantiello, and Fr. Leo Camurati

Members of the Sacred Military Constantinian Order
of St. George participating in the Mass

Knights and Dames of the Sacred Military Constantinian Order
of St. George process out of the church following Mass

The statue of San Gennaro carried in procession through the throng

Fr. Leo among the crowd on Mulberry Street

Don Raimondo del Balzo dei Duchi di Presenzano
spotted in the crowd on Mulberry Street

Our friend Tony Mangia was among the revelers 

Msgr. Jamie Gigantiello leads the procession through the streets of Little Italy

The new outdoor shrine to San Gennaro on Mulberry Street

A delicious fil-a-bun burger

Zeppole

After the procession, we made our way to Vincent’s, a Little Italy institution since 1904, for a well-earned meal and the perfect way to continue celebrating the 100th Anniversary of the Feast of San Gennaro. Good food, good company, and a century of tradition on Mulberry Street.

Vincent’s, founded in 1904 and the oldest restaurant in Little Italy, marks two historic milestones with a new T-shirt celebrating the 250th anniversary of these United States and the 100th Anniversary of the Feast of San Gennaro

Fried shrimp

Baked clams

Calamari

Lasagna

(L) A surprise gift, a Mighty Warriors challenge coin. (R) The newly designed prayer card commemorating the 100th Anniversary of the Feast of San Gennaro

Feast of St. Wenceslaus at the Shrine Chapel of the Blessed Sacrament in Raritan, New Jersey

Photo of the Week: Artemis (Diana) of Ephesus, Vatican Museums (II)

Photo by New York Scugnizzo

Solemn First Vespers at the Church of St. Margaret of Cortona in the Bronx, New York

A Refuge from the Modern World

San Gennaro, ora pro nobis

For some time now, I have made a deliberate effort to withdraw, as much as circumstances permit, from the relentless negativity of modern life. Not from the world itself, nor from my duties within it, but from the noise that increasingly surrounds it: outrage, vulgarity, triviality, endless argument, and a constant invitation to despair. The effect on my peace of mind has been profound.

I have tried instead to turn my attention to what endures: God, faith, family, literature, art, beauty, and the cultivation of a life shaped by something higher than appetite and distraction. I pray more. I read more. I spend more time with the people I love. I seek out beautiful churches, paintings, music, books, architecture, landscapes, and those small rituals that give dignity and order to ordinary life.

None of this has made me unaware of what is happening around me. If anything, the contrast has become sharper.

Much of modern society seems engaged in a sustained assault on what our ancestors understood as true, noble, and beautiful. Transcendence has been replaced by consumption, contemplation by distraction, and inheritance by novelty. We have surrounded ourselves with comforts while becoming restless, anxious, and spiritually impoverished.

Though I cannot reverse the direction of an age, I can refuse to let its disorder become my own. The world may continue along its chosen course, but I do not have to follow it. Again, this does not mean pretending the darkness does not exist. It means refusing to let it extinguish the light by which I live. There are still Masses to attend, books to read, paintings to admire, meals to share, prayers to say, people to love, and beautiful things worth preserving.

Wishing you a joyful Feast of San Gennaro!

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, September 18th, Feast of San Sabino 

31st Annual Pilgrimage for Restoration in Auriesville, New York

Look What I Found in Little Italy!

Check out these cool patches I found at the Italian American Emporium in Little Italy, New York!

One is a clever play on the classic New York Cosmos logo that reads “Calabrese,” while the other commemorates the 100th Anniversary of the Feast of San Gennaro.

If you’re heading to the Feast, be sure to stop by the Italian American Emporium and see what treasures you can find!

Italian American Emporium/Red Sauce Studio
155 Mulberry Street
New York, NY 10013

Il Portastendardo di Civitella del Tronto (n. 63 - Settembre 2026)

Identità Borbonica

In Napoli

Excerpt from Naples, A Traveller’s Reader, Edited and Introduced by Desmond Seward

"The Risorgimento was a disaster for Naples and for the south in general. Before 1860 the Mezzogiorno was the richest part of Italy outside the Austrian Empire; after it quickly became the poorest. The facts speak for themselves. In 1859 money circulating in The Two Sicilies amounted to more than that circulating in all other independent Italian states, while the Bank of Naples's gold reserve was 443 million gold lire, twice the combined reserves of the rest of Italy. This gold was immediately confiscated by Piedmont - whose own reserve had been a mere 27 million - and transferred to Turin. Neapolitan excise duties, levied to keep out the north's inferior goods and providing four-fifths of the city's revenue, were abolished. And then the northerners imposed crushing new taxes. Far from being liberators, the Piedmontese administrators who came in the wake of the Risorgimento behaved like Yankees in the post-bellum Southern States; they ruled The Two Sicilies as an occupied country, systematically demolishing its institutions and industries. Ferdinand's new dockyard was dismantled to stop Naples competing with Genoa (it is now being restored by industrial archaeologists). Vilification of the Borboni became part of the school curriculum. Shortly after the Two Sicilies' enforced incorporation into the new Kingdom of Italy, the Duke of Maddaloni protested in the 'national' Parliament: 'This is invasion, not annexation, not union. We are being plundered like an occupied territory.' For years after the 'liberation', Neapolitans were governed by northern padroni and carpet-baggers. And today the Italians of the north can be as stupidly prejudiced about Naples as any Anglo-Saxon, affecting a superiority that verges on racism – 'Africa begins South of Rome' – and lamenting the presence in the north of so many workers from the Mezzogiorno. (The ill-feeling is reciprocated, the Neapolitan translation of SPQR being Sono porci, questi Romani.) Throughout the 1860s 150,000 troops were needed to hold down the south."

* Naples, A Traveller’s Reader, edited and introduced by Desmond Seward (Robinson, 1984), pp. 13–14

Our Lady of the Rosary of San Nicolas

Remembering the Warrior Prelate: His Eminence Cardinal Fabrizio Dionigi Ruffo

Cardinal Fabrizio Ruffo (b. Sept. 16, 1744—d. Dec. 13, 1827)

In memory of His Eminence Cardinal Fabrizio Dionigi Ruffo, the great counter-revolutionary hero who liberated the Kingdom of Naples from Franco-Jacobin tyranny, we offer our prayers for the happy repose of his soul.

Eternal rest grant unto him, 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

Chants of St. Hildegard of Bingen: A Musical Meditation at St. Josaphat's Oratory in Bayside, New York

The Island of the Dead

Island of the Dead, 1880, oil on wood, Arnold Böcklin

“You will be mourned by myself, and others you will mourn, and by your presence, you will signal grief.”  — Ovid, Metamorphoses, Book X

Whenever I visit Arnold Böcklin’s Island of the Dead at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I find myself completely absorbed by it. There is something strangely irresistible about the painting that makes it difficult to glance at and simply move on. The longer I stand before it, the more the surrounding gallery seems to recede, leaving me at the water’s edge, watching the funeral barge make its solemn approach.

A tiny, desolate island rises abruptly from dark, glassy waters, its pale cliffs enclosing a dense grove of towering cypress trees, symbols of death and mourning since antiquity.

In Ovid’s Metamorphoses, the young Cyparissus, inconsolable after accidentally killing his beloved stag, begs the gods to allow him to mourn forever. Transformed into a cypress tree, the youth is destined to stand wherever others grieve.

Böcklin’s cypresses stand almost like a wall, concealing whatever lies at the island’s heart. Tomb-like openings have been hewn into the rock itself, as though the whole island were an immense sepulchre.

Across the still water, a small boat approaches the narrow inlet, guided by a solitary oarsman. Before him stands a mysterious figure shrouded in white, beside a festooned coffin. We do not know who has died, who accompanies the dead, or what awaits them within.

Perhaps this is why Island of the Dead remains so haunting. Böcklin does not attempt to show us what lies beyond death. He brings us only to its entrance and leaves us there, watching the ferry disappear beneath the cypresses.

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, September 14th, Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross 

48th Annual Procession in Honor of Santa Fortunata at the Shrine Church of St. Bernadette in Brooklyn, NY

Seventeenth Sunday After Pentecost at St. Michael's Church in Staten Island, New York