sea dog, was not disturbed by the change of weather, but when the vigorous blows of the sea began to damage the ship and the lightning came to illuminate that terrible spectacle, he understood the danger and although he tried to appear calm in his concise orders, a visible disturbance upset his hard features of an expert sailor.
The fright and the panic of the crew cannot be imagined: someone prayed, someone wept, someone desperate, all implored the help of Providence.
Luigi, attached to the mast, contemplated the hellish ridden of the shocked elements, while invaded by a great sadness, he thought about all his past life and the memories evoked in his mind one by one, recalling his painful childhood and sad adolescence. He saw every day of his gray days, all the troubled nights, and he thought about him again and again when he felt alone, abandoned by everyone, imploring a smile, a caress, a dear word, and he had to suffocate his full affections, showing an indifferent face to those around him. Now he could almost sing victory, he saw himself at the mercy of those angry waves, whose frightful depths opened from time to time, showing they had swallowed the fragile ship in the midst of that stormy ocean.
The struggle between life and death was terrible. From each one the irreparable loss was savoured and everyone felt a harrowing agony. A more impetuous stroke of the sea truncated the mast, after a few moments Luigi had abandoned it to return to the cabin; certainly Providence watched over him. The captain saw himself lost, but in the most desolate moment, when all the minds in Heaven had forgotten the earthly goods and waited for their fate, Neptune appeared with his trident and he ordered the storm to calm down. In fact, little by little the storm ceased, the clouds thinned out and a light breeze, moving more and more the clouds, puffed the sails, rippling the surface of the sea became quiet.
Hope shone in everyone's eyes, the captain improvised repairs to the ship and with the help of the Divine Hand, after a few hours, they entered a nearby port. The second day they continued the journey and finally they landed at the coasts of Africa.
So Luigi becomes a guest of Algiers and he begins his laborious but peaceful life, radiated by a bright star he believes to see in his path, the star points him to the right path to lead him to the goal.
Meanwhile time passes and from Algeria he returns to England, then to France, then to Belgium, Austria, Germany, always counting numberless adventures; finally, at the age of twenty, satisfied, enlightened by a life full of smiles, he thinks the time has come to see his beloved mother, his relatives, his childhood friends and the dear shores of his country.
Luck, this time, accompanies him: for his Company he has to do the season in a large hotel in Rome. This is how, after seven years, Luigi returns to his homeland and enthusiastically he sees the exquisite peaks, the pleasant lakes, the playful valleys, the colourful gardens. Beautiful, bold, animated by new hopes he flies in the arms of his expectant mother awaiting for him.
Moving is the scene inside the familiar walls, cheered by the arrival of the wandering exile for so many years that, as a child and abandoned to himself, could get dirty in the mud and instead he returned an honest man, whole, industrious with the moral embellished by encyclopaedic knowledge he learned in his travels and adventures, strong by the four languages he knows, he speaks with ease and elegance, always in a deferential way and without presumption.
He revisits his native village, Orbetello, and he feels happy to tread the soil, of which every atom awakens him a "souvenir", a sweet remembrance, a dear memory and moved by so many resurrections he swears on the ashes of his ancestors and on the images of the protective deities, to do always excellent work, to regain his rank, which tore him a cruel destiny and to make his beloved land palpitate with pride.
Then he leaves to continue his life, happy to feel now in port, confident to reach one day the desired goal.
Now it is the time of the modest storyteller to send to the protagonist of this simple story, the genuine narration of his cases and his adventures, his most fervent wish: "a smooth path, surrounded by joys, consolations, illuminated by hope, infused by happiness, where a guardian angel leads him shortly to the goal, filling him with all the satisfactions he deserves for his elevated feelings, for his generous heart, for his iron will for action, for all his misfortunes, for all his moral and material penalties, for all his sacrifices, for all that concerns his life, which is nothing but a succession of troubles fought and won with resignation, self-denial, honesty and the job."
STEFANIA PALLADINO
Orbetello, 25 May 1906
6
Stefania Palladino, a well-known writer of the time in which she lived, had begun, perhaps involuntarily, to tell the pathetic and adventurous life of her cousin Luigi.
I do not know the motive has induced her to do so: did she do it for the kinship between them, for a lively sympathy towards the cousin or for the interest aroused by chance?
I elevate, however, an affectionate and devoted thought to her memory and I thank her, not only for the accomplished human gesture, but also for the way she has always presented the figure of my Father, putting particular emphasis on the qualities and exalting the feelings.
I, the eldest son of Luigi Palladino, on the threshold now of seventy-seven, having, throughout this period, known men and things, I believe my parent is:
"AN HOMME MEMORABLE".
So I continue the story of Stefania Palladino, invoking the benevolence of all those who will read the whole affair if, with the help of God, I will be able to complete it and I ask their forgiveness if they should notice in my work a gesture of presumption.
7
When my father came back from England, with the savings he had accumulated, not so much for the lavish earnings but for the imputed deprivations, the first thing he did was to give to his mother a dignified arrangement. During her son's stay abroad, she had lent her work as a governor to a noble Neapolitan family.
From what they told in my adolescence and what I remember, one day my father, turning to his mother, told her: "Mum I gave you a gift: I bought the fabric for a dress; I want to see you even more beautiful than what appears in my eyes. I also know a good dressmaker and I am sure she will satisfy you; in a few days, when you want, we'll go with her for the pack. "
The mother, already by nature emotional and perhaps remembering some circumstances not happy of the past, embraced his son with so much effusion, whispering these words: "Look a bit what my son have done for me!"
And the day came when my father took her to the seamstress. This, by the name of Virginia, gave them a warm welcome and, having arranged them, immediately took care to show the models that, more than others, suited her. Her suggestion was widely shared and appreciated.
On the street, then, they commented about the meeting and Donna Anna, so it was called my grandmother, said to her son:
"I'm really satisfied. That dress is beautiful and kind and I think she does very well her job. How did you meet her? "
My father, a little surprised by this question, with a rather mischievous smile, answered:
"She is the sister of a friend of mine, mother; to tell you the truth, however, Virginia is not a professional dressmaker but she has learned the art of cutting and sewing at the French nuns she attends in the hours of freedom and leisure. When I told her about you and I told her about the gift I wanted to give you, she encouraged me so much, to the point of telling
