Apparently determined to outdo the friend who just brought me back a reliquary from the Santuario di San Michele Arcangelo in Monte Sant’Angelo, Puglia, another friend recently returned from Collepardo, the medieval hill town in Frosinone affectionately known as the Town of Herbs and Caves, bearing a bottle of absinthe from the historic herbalist workshop and distillery Sarandrea Marco & C. Knowing my fondness for the Green Fairy, he could not have chosen better. Until now, I had never encountered an Italian absinthe, and naturally it sent me down a rabbit hole into its history.
To my surprise, Sarandrea began producing its Absinthium in 1915, at precisely the moment France was outlawing absinthe after decades of moral panic. Switzerland had already banned it in 1910, and Italy would eventually follow in 1931. And yes, learning that Italy’s own prohibition arrived under the House of Savoy only gave me one more historical grievance to add to the list. For most of the twentieth century, the Green Fairy vanished from much of Europe, returning only after the longstanding prohibitions were lifted in 1998, allowing traditional distillers to revive authentic nineteenth-century recipes.
I look forward to opening this bottle as it was meant to be enjoyed: slowly and ritually during the Green Hour, when absinthe once flowed through the cafés of Paris and artists, poets, and dreamers gathered to debate ideas, cultivate friendships, and seek inspiration. It is remarkable that a spirit so closely associated with Belle Époque France should find such an intriguing chapter of its story in a small Italian village devoted for centuries to the study of herbs. That alone makes this bottle something more than a drink. It is a piece of history, and a thoughtful reminder that the best gifts are those that reflect not only our tastes but also our curiosities.
~ By Giovanni di Napoli, August 16th, Feasts of San Rocco di Montpellier and San Gioacchino
August 17, 2026
A Postcard from the Gates of Hell
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| Postcard of Auguste Rodin's La Porte de l’Enfer |
The photograph alone would have been enough, but she also took the time to bring me back a postcard of The Gates of Hell, which will make a nice addition to my collection.
I am flattered that, in the presence of such greatness, she thought of me.
Photo of the Week: The Colossal Head of Augustus in the Cortile della Pigna, Vatican Museums (III)
August 16, 2026
Under the Mantle of the Glorious Pilgrim
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| San Rocco di Montpellier, ora pro nobis |
This year marks the third anniversary of the heart attack that forever changed the course of my life. What I first received as a second chance has become something greater: a call to live more prayerfully and more attentively to the things of God. The joy that filled me in those early days has never faded. If anything, it has deepened into lasting peace.
First among my patrons, San Rocco has long occupied a privileged place in my devotions. For the past decade, I have been entrusted with safeguarding one of his holy relics, a responsibility I carry with reverence through daily prayer, burning candles, and incense. In contemplating his life as a pilgrim and healer, I have found a companion whose example continually calls me away from distraction and toward charity, humility, and trust in Divine Providence.
For those of us whose roots lie in Southern Italy, devotion to San Rocco is more than inherited custom. Devotion to the great saint has long united villages, families, and the faithful in prayer, hope, and charity. To honor him is to remain connected not only to our ancestors, but also to the enduring Catholic civilization that formed them.
God willing, I will once again have the privilege of joining my confratelli of the San Rocco Society in carrying the saint through the streets of Little Italy, just as generations before us have done. It is a small act of devotion, but one offered in thanksgiving for graces received, for vows faithfully kept, and for the undeserved gift of being granted another year beneath the mantle of the glorious Pilgrim. Evviva San Rocco!
~ By Giovanni di Napoli, August 15th, Feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary
Celebrating Ferragosto
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| Focaccia Barese |
In that same spirit, we celebrated the day surrounded by family and friends. We were treated to another wonderful home-cooked meal, spent the afternoon splashing about in the pool, and enjoyed laughter, conversation, and good company. Traditions like these remind us that the greatest blessings are often the simplest: faith, family, friendship, and a shared table. Buon Ferragosto!
~ By Giovanni di Napoli, August 15th, Feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary
August 15, 2026
A Changing of the Guard at Ernesto il disingannato
We extend our sincere gratitude to Professor Gianandrea de Antonellis for his many years of dedicated service as founder and Director of Ernesto il disingannato. His vision and commitment have shaped the publication since its founding in 2017 and established the course it continues to follow today.
As Riccardo Pasqualin assumes the role of Director, we wish him every success in carrying forward this important work while remaining faithful to the principles and traditions upon which the journal was founded.
Dios, Patria, Fueros y Rey!
As Riccardo Pasqualin assumes the role of Director, we wish him every success in carrying forward this important work while remaining faithful to the principles and traditions upon which the journal was founded.
Dios, Patria, Fueros y Rey!
Simple Pleasures: A Gift from Monte Sant’Angelo
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| San Michele Arcangelo, ora pro nobis |
To hold those blessed stones is to feel a tangible connection to one of Christendom’s oldest and most revered pilgrimage sites. It is a reminder that the greatest souvenirs are not objects of luxury, but humble relics of faith that draw our hearts toward God and keep alive the memory of the holy places that have shaped our civilization. ~ Giovanni di Napoli
August 14, 2026
The Tears of St. Lawrence
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| San Lorenzo, ora pro nobis |
In Catholic tradition, the Perseids are known as Le Lacrime di San Lorenzo, the Tears of St. Lawrence, their falling light recalling the tears shed for the martyred deacon. Another tradition sees in their fiery descent the glowing embers of the flames upon which he was roasted.
Though no celestial fire revealed itself to me that night, I made my annual wish beneath the obscured heavens, trusting the old custom even without a shooting star to carry it.
Whether I saw them seemed almost beside the point. Simply keeping vigil beneath the firmament, meditating on the martyr whose blazing embers return to us every August, was enough. Somewhere beyond my sight, the Tears of St. Lawrence were falling. Evviva San Lorenzo!
~ By Giovanni di Napoli, August 13th, Feast of Sant’Ippolito Martire
Viva 'o Rre! Happy Birthday King Francesco I of the Two Sicilies
In memory of King Francesco I of the Two Sicilies, we pray for the happy repose of his soul. Viva ‘o Rre!b. Napoli, 14 August 1777 – d. Napoli, 8 November 1830
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
Among the Shelves: Treasures in a Friend’s Library
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| Il Blasone in Sicilia (The Blazon in Sicily), presented in its protective clamshell box |
Among the highlights was I Borbone delle Due Sicilie (The Bourbons of the Two Sicilies), the magnificent Scripta Maneant edition limited to just 399 copies. Accompanied by five commemorative medallions bearing the portraits of the Bourbon Kings of the Two Sicilies, it is as much a work of art as it is a historical publication.
Equally impressive was Il Blasone in Sicilia (The Blazon in Sicily) by Vincenzo Palizzolo Gravina, Baron of Ramione. Originally published in Palermo between 1871 and 1875, this monumental work remains one of the foundational references for the study of Sicilian nobility and heraldry. Its detailed histories of noble families, descriptions of coats of arms, and beautiful chromolithographic plates make it an enduring treasure for anyone interested in the history and genealogy of Southern Italy.
On a more personal note, I was delighted to find a copy of Ciri-Biri-Bin by Mel Silverman, a book I loved as a child. Published in 1957, it captures the warmth and vitality of Italian-American neighborhood life through Silverman’s bold, woodcut-inspired illustrations. Centered on a young boy named Mario and culminating in the excitement of a neighborhood feast reminiscent of San Gennaro, it remains a charming celebration of family, community, and the joyful spirit of Italian America.
~ By Giovanni di Napoli, August 13th, Feast of Sant’Ippolito Martire
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| Five commemorative medallions bearing the portraits of the Bourbon Kings of the Two Sicilies |
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| Double-Page Spread featuring an antique map of the Kingdom of Naples |
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| Double-Page Spread featuring a detail of the ceiling in the Teatro di San Carlo, Naples |
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| (L) Cover of Carlos III: Majestad y Ornato. (R) Recto featuring a portrait of HM King Carlos III |
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| (L) Slipcover for Ruggero II d'Altavilla. (R) Gilt-stamped cover |
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| Double-page spread from Cerimonial dei Borbone di Napoli (1734-1801) featuring the portraits of King Carlo of Naples and Sicily and his consort, Maria Amalia of Saxony |
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| (L-R) Covers of Francesco II di Borbone: Immagini, documenti, testimonianze and I Briganti di Sua Maestà |
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| Cover of Cinque Borbone |
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| (L-R) Covers of Cuore a Sud and Diario di Francesco II di Borbone (1862-1894) |
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| (L-R) Rectos from Diario di Francesco II di Borbone (1862-1894) featuring portraits of HM King Francesco II di Borbone and HM Queen Maria Sofia of Bavaria |
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| (L-R) Covers of Carlo III and Un Cardinale Condottiero |
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| (L-R) Covers of Ferdinando IV: Re di Napoli and Un regno in America per Francesco II di Borbone? |
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| (L-R) Covers of A Tavola Con I Borboni and Ciri-Biri-Bin |
August 13, 2026
The Sphinxes Shall Keep Their Watch
After nearly a decade of legal battles, protests, and uncertainty, the fight to save the Elizabeth Street Garden appears finally to be coming to an end. The beloved sculpture garden in downtown Manhattan had long faced demolition, with the city seeking to raze it for affordable housing. Now, according to several sources, the city is expected to step back from those plans, bringing an extraordinary reprieve to a place whose survival had seemed increasingly uncertain.
I am especially pleased by the news because this little refuge has long been a favorite haunt of mine. Tucked away from the commotion of the surrounding streets, it is one of those increasingly rare corners of Manhattan where the city seems to recede. I often stop there with a cup of coffee, finding a shady place among the greenery and old stone where I can gather my thoughts and enjoy a little peace in its tranquil environs.
Much of the garden’s peculiar charm comes from the architectural fragments, statues, columns, urns, and weathered monuments scattered throughout the grounds. The place possesses something of the atmosphere of an old European garth, where nature and antiquity intertwine.
Of all its silent inhabitants, I am especially fond of the twin stone sphinxes. Reclining enigmatically among the foliage, they often invade my thoughts as I sit nearby. There is something wonderfully incongruous about encountering those ancient forms in Nolita, silent guardians of mysteries transplanted into a small garden between tenements.
The preservation of the Elizabeth Street Garden is about more than saving a patch of greenery. The city is crowded and dirty, and it needs more green spaces, not fewer. It also needs places that serve no immediately measurable purpose beyond beauty, contemplation, memory, and repose. The garden is one of those rare places. God willing, I will continue to sit there with my coffee, gathering my thoughts beneath the trees while the two sphinxes keep their inscrutable watch.
~ By Giovanni di Napoli, August 12th, Feast of Santa Chiara d’Assisi
I am especially pleased by the news because this little refuge has long been a favorite haunt of mine. Tucked away from the commotion of the surrounding streets, it is one of those increasingly rare corners of Manhattan where the city seems to recede. I often stop there with a cup of coffee, finding a shady place among the greenery and old stone where I can gather my thoughts and enjoy a little peace in its tranquil environs.
Much of the garden’s peculiar charm comes from the architectural fragments, statues, columns, urns, and weathered monuments scattered throughout the grounds. The place possesses something of the atmosphere of an old European garth, where nature and antiquity intertwine.
Of all its silent inhabitants, I am especially fond of the twin stone sphinxes. Reclining enigmatically among the foliage, they often invade my thoughts as I sit nearby. There is something wonderfully incongruous about encountering those ancient forms in Nolita, silent guardians of mysteries transplanted into a small garden between tenements.
The preservation of the Elizabeth Street Garden is about more than saving a patch of greenery. The city is crowded and dirty, and it needs more green spaces, not fewer. It also needs places that serve no immediately measurable purpose beyond beauty, contemplation, memory, and repose. The garden is one of those rare places. God willing, I will continue to sit there with my coffee, gathering my thoughts beneath the trees while the two sphinxes keep their inscrutable watch.
~ By Giovanni di Napoli, August 12th, Feast of Santa Chiara d’Assisi
Ghost of Princesses in Towers
It is curious how the mind works. Whenever I walk through Central Park and catch sight of the stark glass-and-steel skyscrapers rising above the trees, my thoughts wander elsewhere. For a fleeting moment, they cease to be office buildings. They become lonely towers standing over a forgotten kingdom, their highest windows concealing princesses imprisoned by dark sorcerers and guarded by fire-breathing dragons, awaiting the arrival of some knight-errant.
As a boy, I often dreamt of riding beneath storm-filled skies with a sword at my side, like Sigurd of old, seeking ancient Hindarfjall, where noble Brynhild, bound by dark enchantments, lay asleep behind a wall of shields and a ring of fire. I knew, with the unwavering certainty of childhood, that somewhere there were dragons to be slain, curses to be broken, and black keeps where fair maidens awaited deliverance. The world seemed vast enough to contain such wonders.
That world has changed, or perhaps only our imagination has grown dim. We live in an age that deconstructs and subverts tales of valiant knights and damsels in distress, reducing them to outdated, childish fancies unworthy of serious men. I cannot help but pity such disenchantment. A society that no longer dreams of heroes is, I think, poorer for it. Though such longings have become unfashionable, I cannot abandon them.
Thankfully, the dreaming boy remains. Whenever those towers rise above the trees, some forgotten part of me still believes that behind one high window a candle burns, a princess waits, and a knight, though long delayed, is still riding through the darkness.
~ By Giovanni di Napoli, August 12th, Feast of Santa Chiara d’Assisi
As a boy, I often dreamt of riding beneath storm-filled skies with a sword at my side, like Sigurd of old, seeking ancient Hindarfjall, where noble Brynhild, bound by dark enchantments, lay asleep behind a wall of shields and a ring of fire. I knew, with the unwavering certainty of childhood, that somewhere there were dragons to be slain, curses to be broken, and black keeps where fair maidens awaited deliverance. The world seemed vast enough to contain such wonders.
That world has changed, or perhaps only our imagination has grown dim. We live in an age that deconstructs and subverts tales of valiant knights and damsels in distress, reducing them to outdated, childish fancies unworthy of serious men. I cannot help but pity such disenchantment. A society that no longer dreams of heroes is, I think, poorer for it. Though such longings have become unfashionable, I cannot abandon them.
Thankfully, the dreaming boy remains. Whenever those towers rise above the trees, some forgotten part of me still believes that behind one high window a candle burns, a princess waits, and a knight, though long delayed, is still riding through the darkness.
~ By Giovanni di Napoli, August 12th, Feast of Santa Chiara d’Assisi
August 12, 2026
Giacinto de’ Sivo: In Defense of the Two Sicilies
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| Giacinto de' Sivo (1814-1867) |
Educated in law but drawn to literature and history, de’ Sivo initially pursued a career in public service, eventually serving as counselor for the province of Terra di Lavoro. Following Garibaldi’s conquest of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies in 1860, he refused to swear allegiance to King Vittorio Emanuele II and openly opposed the new regime. In 1861, his uncompromising defense of the Bourbon cause led to his imprisonment on two occasions. Amid mounting political persecution, he left for Rome in 1862, then under Papal rule, where he spent the remainder of his life devoted to scholarship and writing.
Before composing his major historical works, de’ Sivo continued his opposition through journalism. He contributed to the legitimist newspaper L’Iride and later founded La Tragicommedia, a satirical journal that sharply criticized the new Italian government. The publication was suppressed after only three issues, illustrating the increasingly hostile climate faced by Bourbon loyalists in the aftermath of unification.
His best-known work, the five-volume Storia delle Due Sicilie dal 1847 al 1861 (History of the Two Sicilies from 1847 to 1861), remains a foundational text of the Bourbon perspective on Italian unification. Drawing upon official documents, eyewitness accounts, correspondence, and contemporary reports, de’ Sivo presented a detailed account that countered prevailing liberal interpretations. He argued that the conquest of the kingdom was driven not solely by popular enthusiasm for national unity but also by military invasion, diplomatic pressure, internal betrayal, and foreign influence. Among those he criticized most sharply was the liberal statesman Liborio Romano, whom he regarded as instrumental in the kingdom’s demise. Few writers did more than de’ Sivo to shape the historical memory of the Bourbon Kingdom, providing later generations of legitimists and historians of Southern Italy with the intellectual framework for reassessing the fall of the Two Sicilies.
Throughout his writings, de’ Sivo emphasized the legitimacy of the Bourbon monarchy and defended the social, religious, and legal institutions that had developed over centuries in Southern Italy. He regarded the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies as a distinct civilization rooted in Catholic faith, regional traditions, and centuries of institutional continuity. In his view, it was an independent state whose political and cultural identity deserved to endure. His works consistently highlighted the contributions of the South to Italian and European civilization while criticizing the post-unification policies he believed marginalized the Mezzogiorno.
Although his views have remained the subject of academic debate, de' Sivo is widely regarded as the foremost Bourbon critic of the Risorgimento and an indispensable source for understanding the collapse of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies. His writings became an important precursor to later discourse surrounding the Southern Question, regional inequality, and the long-term consequences of Italian unification. Largely dismissed by mainstream liberal historiography of the late nineteenth century, his scholarship received renewed attention after Benedetto Croce reassessed his work in 1918. While rejecting de’ Sivo’s Bourbon political conclusions, Croce nevertheless acknowledged the depth of his research and the historical value of his work.
Whether read as a passionate defender of the Bourbon cause or as a significant historian of his age, de' Sivo's writings remain an enduring testament to the profound complexity of Italian unification and the importance of preserving perspectives that challenged its dominant narrative.
~ By Antonio Isernia
An Unexpected Guest from Wallachia
A friend returned from Romania with this miniature Vlad the Impaler, and he looks surprisingly at home in a library devoted to Southern Italy. Maybe it is because of the enduring tradition that the Voivode of Wallachia may have found his final resting place in the small cloister of Santa Maria la Nova in Naples. Or perhaps he is simply one of those ghosts who reminds us that the histories of Southern Italy and Eastern Europe intertwine in ways few ever imagine.
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