Ana Maria de Jesus Ribeiro © Salvo Andrea -2010 Figure
PART
"a cottage house, from town to town, not I find that applause and handshakes, while behind me and also often overlooked, are more narrow you would like to have at my neck and one of 'my followers. We had to leave our beautiful shirts that they gave us so much luster from Sicily to Rome and turn dressed as camperos Argentines I know so well. Good Giambattista, and Nino are my shadows and my bodyguard and increasingly it is "light" and "Tetavac" and "Erma White" which are our guides in these valleys and swamps, treacherous but so far we have protected the lives. Not to mention that the beloved Ana rides always by my side, it is too tired because of her pregnancy and often goes on ahead to hunt Austrian patrol, thanks to his incredible skill of riding. I am writing from the farm where Zanetto Mrs. Teresa and her husband Antonio (to say nothing about the surnames to their greater self-assurance) gave us asylum and food, what little they can. The lagoon of his fortune to ensure our survival. So shrimp, fish and birds do seem to compete to be eaten by us. You know well that I am almost an atheist or at least anti-clerical but I think that what Manzoni called Divine Providence, we're helping. E 'twelve days we combined the three enemies die and escape the terrible and merciless, and the papal police, the bastard French and the Austrians captors. I accompanied this mine, a map
with our path, the one already done. For the future you do not write anything in spite of betrayal, but I would like to Rimini. From there, a boatman called "Jerusalem" together to "Sgiorz" will take us to Venice, which still stands with his Republic of San Marco, the last stronghold, the onslaught of foreigners and there reunite with you. My dream of seeing the land of Italy free from any usurper and a Pope who does not want a free church in a free state while keeping the native soil under the heel of the stern temporal power, I fear that it can slowly sink like a stone in Codest murky and muddy swamps. Not mosquitoes, but the bullets are our enemies now boils. Would be nice if some of your heroes of the "Young Italy", we were met far beyond the borders of the Grand Duchy of Tuscany and beyond Forlì. And what I implore you to strive to provide first encirclement of our final and fatal.
The big ruby \u200b\u200bring finger you will see that the bearer of this letter represents the maximum value of the exchange on which I can count. So far it was necessary to undertake, but if it was for, you know what and how. Although mean to you and for me the most beautiful and great promise of Love signed in Uruguay, when I filled this gem of an eternal promise of fidelity, but even I would not hesitate to trade with the freedom of my country. "
The attendant was reading more and more taken, those lines that seemed to spring from another place and another time. He had almost the feeling of being projected, in those places and under the circumstances. He looked at the map and is only now beginning to recognize the places and the same in which he grew up as a child: the valleys of Comacchio.
"dear Goofy - shooting the letter - if the messenger were to fall into enemy hands, we would not escape and we will end our days of torture by the Austrians inflitteci or drowned in these marshes. I pray to God so that in any way, this letter will reach the hands of my baby, beloved Anita. Your
devot.mo
Joseph G. "
The lifeguard finished reading and looked back at the woman, her eyes full of tears, him, a big man of six feet, crying for a story of love and war, escapes and untold suffering, just in time to hear them whisper: "The message of my message to my ... Jose ... Jose."
Then the mysterious woman he closed his eyes and opened them more, his heart had stopped and with it the breath. Lucius tried to lift his head and only then noticed a swelling pale, bluish with blood caked around and washed by sea water. Protruding just below the right clavicle and was hard consistency seemed to lead, was lead. He recognized then the nature of a musket ball was like his great-grandfather who had to hunt up to Argenta foxes. Why was the ball of a muzzle-loading rifle in the shoulder of the woman. He took her hand from the ruby-studded, made to lift it, but still wet, he took off the ring that was between his fingers. Then put it against the disk of the sun was low on the horizon now. His watch said 19.30. He admired again that flamed red of ruby, a real pigeon blood pure ... and then he saw a gleam afar, metal, and along with it dozens of violent heard the patter of hoofs on the shore. Five or six riders moving at a gallop towards him, swords drawn and raised.
As fast approaching, he could make out the shapes and clothing. They wore bright red shirts, made even more brilliant from the sun. Their shadows cast by the sun has now come forward on the edge of the mountains, came upon him suddenly. He felt funny, kneeling on the sand beside the corpse of a stranger, holding in one hand, the two sheets of messages just read and the other a ring with a large ruby.
was a moment, with open arms, as the puppet of the Tournament of the Quintana ,
was seen taken away by the sword the first rider, who had stabbed both of the two sheets and the second toe saber, the ring.
remained empty-handed and terror came upon him when he saw the third rider, who now loomed on the head, Turn it around and maneuver his sword tip. Instinctively closed his eyes and waited to be pulled from the blade. Instead he heard a tremendous blow with the hilt, just in front. There was darkness in his mind.
"Then Lucio Righi ... you're always dreaming, a boy blessed. What dreams now? "
Maria Teresa Zanetto Menotti, a teacher in Argenta, had taken over the small pupil, lost behind his thoughts.
"Come on the board that we talk a bit 'of history - he said as a ray of sunlight filtered through the window of the tent should be - let's talk a little bit of Giuseppe Garibaldi."
The boy got a little 'disappointed for giving up his dream with open eyes and walked to the chair. He began to speak even before having reached his goal: "Giuseppe Garibaldi was born in ... '
" No Lucio - interrupted him, as the sun was shining the pigeon blood ruby \u200b\u200b that the teacher wore the ring - tell me Garibaldi's escape to the Valleys of Comacchio.
"Giuseppe Garibaldi did what was called the die between the marshes of Comacchio and it was only through heroic company of his wife Anita, he managed to escape. The woman In fact, he was able to deliver a message asking for help of the General, addressed to Giuseppe Mazzini, the knights and patriots Romagna. It was 19:30 on the 4 August 1849. The woman was seriously injured and ...
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