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Updated: June 16, 2025
Father Ignazio has lately counselled the little prince's visiting in state the protectress of his line, and his Highness's physician, Count Heiligenstern, does not disapprove the plan. In fact," she added, "I understand that he thinks all special acts of piety beneficial, as symbolising the inward act by which the soul incessantly strives to reunite itself to the One."
It is my opinion that a great deal of devout and reverential feeling is kept alive in people's hearts by the Catholic mode of worship. Soon leaving the Pantheon, a few minutes' walk towards the Corso brought me to the Church of St. Ignazio, which belongs to the College of the Jesuits.
The guest was twenty-five, the host sixty. "And have you been in America long?" inquired Gaston. "Twenty years." "And at Santa Ysabel how long?" "Twenty years." "I should have thought," said Gaston, looking lightly at the empty mountains, "that now and again you might have wished to travel." "Were I your age," murmured Padre Ignazio, "it might be so."
The padre, with ears critically deaf, and with smiling, unconvinced eyes, was shaking his head, while young Gaston sang "Trovatore" at him, and beat upon the table with a fork. "Come and convert me, then," said Padre Ignazio, and he led the way. "Donizetti I have always admitted. There, at least, is refinement. If the world has taken to this Verdi, with his street-band music But there, now!
And coming to know this," said Padre Ignazio, fixing his eyes steadily upon Gaston, "you will understand how great a privilege it is to help such people, and hour the sense of something accomplished under God should bring contentment with renunciation." "Yes," said Gaston Villere. Then, thinking of himself, "I can understand it in a man like you."
Ignazio, which is adorned with a picture over the altar, and with marble sculptures of the Trinity aloft, and of angels fluttering at the sides. The church is a splendid one, lined with a great variety of precious marbles, . . . . but partly, perhaps, owing to the dusky light, as well as to the want of cleanliness, there was a dingy effect upon the whole.
"The young man from New Orleans? Yes. I am Padre Ignazio." "Then you will save me a journey. I promised him to deliver these into your own hands." The stranger gave them to him. "A bag of gold-dust," he explained, "and a letter. I wrote it from his dictation while he was dying. He lived scarcely an hour afterwards."
"Light light!" some one stammered; and at the same moment a door was flung open, admitting a burst of candle-light and a group of figures in ecclesiastical dress, against which the white gown and black hood of Father Ignazio detached themselves. The Dominican stepped toward the Duke.
I asked Ignazio Giacalone: "What are they singing?" He replied that it was a favourite song among the popolino of Trapani about a girl who did not want to be seen going about with a man. "The people in this place," says the song, "are very ill-natured, and if they see you and me together, they will talk," &c.
He also made two figures in distemper for the Monks of Cestello, a S. Rocco and a S. Ignazio, which are in the Chapel of S. Sebastiano. And in a little chapel on the abutment of the Ponte Rubaconte, on the side towards the Mills, he painted a Madonna, a S. Laurence, and another saint.
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